


Contrapasso

by takadainmate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-04
Updated: 2010-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:59:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takadainmate/pseuds/takadainmate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a town in Wisconsin that doesn't exist.</p><p>With no way in without human help, Castiel, seeking out a group of missing angels, asks for Dean's assistance. He finds Sam with his brother, alive and well and free from Lucifer, with no explanation and no memory of how he got out of Hell.</p><p>Inside the town that doesn't exist, there is murder and madness and a creeping cold that leave Dean, Cas and Sam fighting for their lives and for each other. As the town shifts and changes around them, descending into anarchy, the three of them find it increasingly difficult to tell what's real and what's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2010 deancasbigbang on LJ.
> 
>  **Notes:** Thanks to [](http://hils.livejournal.com/profile)[**hils**](http://hils.livejournal.com/) for initial alpha duties, and to [](http://burkesl17.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://burkesl17.livejournal.com/)**burkesl17** for her many useful observations and plot-hole spotting.
> 
> The very greatest thanks to [](http://cienna.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cienna.livejournal.com/)**cienna** for her immense beta-ing work, her strict and amusing Americanish-picking, her encouragment, and for going on epic sorrow-drowning, plot-devising pub crawls with me. Suffice it to say, this would be a whole lot crappier, and shorter, without all of you.
> 
> Finally, to my artist, [](http://ekbe-vile.livejournal.com/profile)[**ekbe_vile**](http://ekbe-vile.livejournal.com/), who saw right through my unsubtle hints, and who recognised the artist whose vision I had blatantly stolen from. Her wonderful accompanying art can be found [here](http://ekbe-vile.livejournal.com/12904.html).  
> 

They'd planned to meet on the bridge that served as the only main highway into town.

Below the bridge ran a fast-moving river punctuated by deadly looking rocks, the roaring noise of the water making it hard to hear anything else. Old, towering trees surrounded the potted road they'd driven in on, and they made Dean feel small and trapped. There was definitely something wrong, something not quite right about the place. The air smelled clean and damp and alive and Dean couldn't help but think it was all just a little too beautiful, too natural to be anything but the opposite. He remembered other bridges and all the bad things they'd meant for him and Sam and Dad, and how the worst shit always happened in the nicest looking places. They'd only arrived ten minutes ago and Dean was already itching to leave.

If Sam felt anything like the unease Dean was nurturing he wasn't showing it, and Dean really wished he would. It was hard to think that Sam's obliviousness was nothing, that he was just tired or whatever, because Dean _knew_ how observant and careful and wary and, for lack of a better word, _sensitive_ Sam usually was no matter how shit he was feeling. But Sam was rummaging around the trunk of the Impala, not cautious or watchful, like there was nothing wrong with this setup. It was damn hard to remember that this was still the Sam Dean knew. Not that long ago Sam had shown that kind of faith in Dean, so it was the least Dean could do to suck it up and trust that things hadn't changed. That Sam hadn't changed, despite everything. That Sam hadn't lied.

It was hard, when Dean knew what it was like to come out of hell and just want to forget and to pretend it had never happened. To believe that if you ignored it, it would all go away.

It almost comforted Dean when Sam looked up and asked, "Are we sure about this?" Sam frowned at the Colt in his hand like he couldn't work out what it was doing there before looking back up at Dean. "This is _Cas_ ," Sam said.

Yeah, Dean _knew_ that. He felt like a complete asshole for bringing the holy oil and an angel-killing knife when it was Cas they were meeting. Cas, who had given up his life and his family and just about everything he had for them, and Dean knew it was a dick thing to do, but he had to be sure and he had to keep Sam safe. If Dean wasn't one hundred percent sure about Sam then sure as hell no one else was going to be.

It was weird, but Dean thought that Cas might get that by now. Maybe he'd even expect it, because he had to know that when it came to Sam, Dean had to be sure.

"The last time I saw Cas," Dean told Sam, "he was fully powered up on angel juice again and about to go rule Heaven. I can't trust that."

"He was different?" Sam asked, moving closer toward Dean.

Dean shrugged. "He didn't hang around long enough to tell."

"Then what's with all the paranoid crap?" Sam waved the Colt vaguely in Dean's direction like he was trying to make some kind of point. It grated on Dean's nerves that Sam couldn't work it out for himself why they had to be careful. Why this meeting was so suspicious.

"You remember what happened to him last time he got his ass hauled back to Heaven," Dean said.

Even Dean realised this was a pretty lame excuse, but Sam should realise that something was wrong here. There was no way Cas just _happened_ to suddenly need their help after months of being gone without a trace, or even a text to tell Dean he was alive and having oodles of fun with his dick brothers. No way was that a coincidence. In Dean's experience coincidences were just things that came together to try and kill you.

Dean was glad, at least, that Sam didn't believe his bullshit, and said so. He'd been a lot quieter, Dean had noticed, since he'd come back.

"You said he went back on his own this time." Sam was frowning, and sounded like he was choosing his words carefully. "That he was going back up there to work things out."

"That's what he said."

"You don't trust him?" Sam asked, and he sounded pretty shocked at that. Dean was pretty surprised at himself too. Except for where he'd learned not to trust _anything_ , and Cas had just up and left him on his own and hadn't bothered to let Dean know what was going on. So yeah. Not much trust going on right now.

He still felt like a dick, though.

"Not right now, I don't," Dean said.

It was nearly eight in the morning, the time Dean and Cas had agreed on to meet. They didn't have time for this conversation but Sam was giving Dean his frustrated face and looked ready to argue. They hadn't argued since Sam'd come back either, Dean realised. Maybe Sam missed it too.

Sam was shaking his head. "I don't get it."

"Sam, you don't think it's weird that two weeks after you... come back, Cas, after not getting in contact with me _at all_ for _months_ , suddenly desperately needs my help with some angel business. I haven't heard anything that makes me think the angels are still hanging out on Earth since he disappeared. There's something not right here."

From the sour look on Sam's face he got it now.

Sam looked down at the road. They'd poured a ring of oil there, but you couldn't see it against the black surface.

"You think maybe Cas knows something," Sam said quietly. "Something bad." He didn't say, _About me_ , but it was there in the way Sam hung his head and looked so damn tired.

"I don't know," Dean admitted. He turned fully towards Sam, because no matter how many doubts Dean was holding onto, he _did_ trust Sam, and his brother had to believe that. They hadn't talked about Sam's magical reappearance. Not really. And now was maybe not the best time to start. "You're here, Sam, and you're you. That's all I know. I just have to be sure about Cas."

Sam gave Dean a weak sort of smile and nodded and let it go, so Dean turned back to the road, leaning against the trunk and facing the way they'd come an hour earlier. He waited, with Sam at his side, ready for whatever was coming. Dean really fucking hoped that Cas was _Cas_ when the bastard finally showed up.

***

Cas was late, but Dean couldn't decide if that was Cas-like or not. It had always been _right now_ or, _when I can_ back when they were trying to stop an apocalypse and Cas's grace was dying out and Dean was going just a little more crazy everyday.

Next to him, Sam was fidgeting. That, at least, was familiar.

The sun should have started to warm the air up by now, but there was a lingering coolness that got to Dean's chest like something ready to choke him. Maybe it was just too shaded, Dean guessed, with all the sprawling trees, tightly packed together and arching towards each other over the empty space of the road.

He started to wonder if they'd gotten the right bridge to the right town.

There was no sign to tell them where they were. Now that Dean thought about it he hadn't seen a sign the whole way for the town Cas had told them to go to. Spring Green, he'd called it. There wasn't even much in the way of road markings, and it was starting to get really freaky how not a single car had passed for the two hours they'd been waiting. But Cas had given the directions, and if Dean was in the wrong place then it was the angel's own freaking fault.

Sam didn't say anything, and Dean was wary of letting his guard down to check a map or call Cas, so they waited another half hour.

And finally, _finally_ , Castiel appeared.

He looked exactly the same as he had the last time Dean had seen him; trench coat, tie pulled askew, Jimmy Novak's face. Cas wasn't smiling, or looking in any way like he was pleased to see them, but then he never had.

He looked at Sam and Dean tensed.

Cas was standing about a foot outside the circle they'd poured and Dean couldn't think of a single thing to say to get him into it. Castiel's attention shifted to Dean, then he looked down at the ground, completely unconcerned. It was only then that Dean remembered, oh yeah, Cas could read minds again now.

"Would you like me to step into the circle?" Cas asked.

Out of the corner of his eye Dean saw Sam glance at him and shift nervously, but Sam made no move to reach for the Colt stuffed down the back of his jeans.

Dean decided to go for honesty, since Cas would be able to tell if he was lying or not anyway. "It'd make me feel better, yeah," Dean challenged.

Cas stared back at Dean for a long moment and it was just like he hadn't been gone at all and they were back to not being able to look away from one another again. Just like back then, Dean _knew_ Sam was rolling his eyes.

Dean noticed how quiet it was. No birds. No wind. Just the roar of water, like a barrier to the rest of the world.

This wasn't the way Dean had wanted their reunion to go. If he was honest with himself he'd maybe sort of missed Cas and his weirdness and his brusqueness. He'd been loyal to them, and he'd fought hard, and Dean knew he deserved to go home, but it still stung how he'd just gone and dumped Dean after they'd stopped the apocalypse. Like none of it had meant anything. They'd been friends, Dean'd thought. Fucked up friends, sure, but still, friends.

Dean felt like even more of a tool when Cas nodded, like he'd expected this or something, and moved slowly towards the circle, hesitating for only a second before crossing the line. Dean wondered if this was some kind of challenge because then Cas stared right back at Dean again and didn't say a word.

"Err," Sam tried. He sounded hesitant and Dean couldn't blame him for that. "Hi, Cas. Been a while."

Without looking away from Dean, Cas greeted his brother.

"Hello Sam. It is good to see you again."

"You too," Sam replied.

"You knew Sam was back," Dean said.

"I had an idea." Which meant exactly nothing.

It was hard not to get mad at Cas, but Cas had always been vague and annoyingly cryptic. Nothing had changed there then.

"You wanna expand on that?" Dean asked testily.

Cas made no move. Just kept his hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes firmly on Dean as he replied, "I sensed his return. That's all. I know as much as you do."

Cas wasn't smiting, or looking all gloom and doom, so Dean figured the angel couldn't have been getting any Lucifer or demon-harbouring vibes off of Sam. Not that Dean thought Sam had any, but it was weirdly reassuring that Cas didn't seem at all concerned by his brother's miraculous return from Hell. And Cas was standing in a ring of holy oil that could restrain him just to make Dean feel like he was in control of the situation, so he figured Cas was at least mostly on the level.

Or at least, that's what he hoped. Dean wasn't dumb enough to forget that Cas was fast enough and powerful enough to do whatever the hell he wanted with them now. But Cas wasn't doing anything except looking at Dean with a curious sort of understanding. Maybe he'd expected something like this after all.

Dean wanted to ask why Cas wasn't making anything of Sam being there.

Cas had once told Dean that it wasn't every day human souls got a free pass out of the pit, and if it wasn't angels who'd done this, then what else could? That was what really had Dean worried; that it was demons. That there were deals involved. And that Sam didn't even _know_ it.

"So what do you need us for, Cas? We're just puny humans and you're all angel-boss now."

That fear in the back of Dean's mind just wouldn't go away. That there was no way Cas's calling them was a fluke. That this was all some elaborate set up and Dean was going to lose Sam all over again.

"You expect me to believe there just happened to be a case you need us for, now? After all this time?"

Cas looked at Sam searchingly, really looked at him for the first time since he'd arrived, and frowned. It was concern, Dean thought. If you knew how to look, it was all there in the grim set of his face and his thinned lips. At least he hadn't gone back to being Mister Roboto after seven months in Heaven, or wherever the hell he'd been.

"You believe in coincidences as little as I do," Castiel said.

Not so much what Dean wanted to hear, but it sounded like the truth.

"And?" Dean prompted. "So what are we doing here?"

Cas broke eye contact then, looking over Dean's shoulder towards the bridge.

"This town," he said in a low voice. "It doesn't exist."

***

Castiel, Dean thought, was a drama queen. No wonder he got along with Sam.

"Why did I have to leave the car behind again?" Dean wanted to know. Because there was leaving her somewhere safe when you were heading into a demon-infested war zone, and then there was leaving her on the side of a back road in Wisconsin.

Castiel shook his head and replied, "That would be unwise, and your car will be of no use to us."

"To you, you mean," Dean shot back. He hated walking when he didn't have to, and right now he _didn't have to_. There was a perfectly good road they were walking on, even if it was kind of creepily unmarked and untouched by the trees and the grass on either side of the road. They were across the bridge now, and the air felt cool and heavy with the morning damp. Dean couldn't see any sign of civilization anywhere even though Cas insisted it wasn't far.

"Dean," Sam said warningly. "He's just thinking of how much you'd hate it if the Impala got hurt." His brother turned to Cas. "Aren't you Cas?"

Cas stared at Sam for a long moment before nodding and agreeing. "I was just thinking of your car."

Complete and utter crap, and they all knew it.

"I see you haven't learned to lie any better then," Dean snorted, feeling kind of pleased. To his left, Sam was trying not to smile too.

Dean would've liked to believe everything was back to how it had been, before. He would've liked to believe he could trust Cas one hundred percent like he had before. But Cas had said it himself; there were no such things as coincidences. And the damn angel was doing that damn annoying not-actually-answering-any-questions thing again.

Castiel agreed, "I haven't," and Dean believed that much. "I can't set foot in the town without your help," he went on. Down to business, then.

"The town that doesn't exist?" Dean said.

"Yes."

Every time was like pulling teeth.

Dean was going to ask for some kind of actually useful elaboration on that, but then out the corner of his eye he saw movement between the trees to his right. It was fast moving, indistinct, and Dean felt his hands go cold. The thing, whatever it was, definitely wasn't human. The way it moved, the way it wasn't quite visible, Dean's instincts, all told him it wasn't natural, that it was a threat.

He knew Castiel had seen it too because while the angel was still walking forwards, his whole posture had changed to tense and alert, his head tilted towards the woods. To his left Sam pulled himself straight, throwing his duffel bag more securely over his shoulder, his hands hovering at his belt like he was preparing for a fight.

There was a sharp bend in the road up ahead and all Dean could see in front of them was a thick line of trees. He moved closer to Cas and Sam followed.

"Any ideas?" Dean asked under his breath as soon as he was close enough.

Undergrowth rustled and snapped in the woods around them and Dean knew there was more than one of whatever this thing was. They kept their distance, slowed up and sped ahead like they were testing boundaries. He hadn't seen one clearly, just caught flashes of black and grey among the green. They were being surrounded, Dean realised. They were being hunted.

Cas sounded irritated when he said, "They are guardians." He spared a glance at Sam and Dean before turning his gaze back to the woods, scanning, slowing his pace but not stopping. "They should not be here. You are armed."

Not a question, because they weren't _idiots_ , but more an instruction to draw their weapons. To be prepared. Dean felt Sam at his back.

"They're fast," Sam commented. He pulled the Colt from his pants and pointed it down at the road, finger pressed against the trigger. Dean drew out the demon-killing knife, gripping its thick handle tightly. He'd leaned his lesson too many times over to rely on it, as well as the Colt, being able to kill anything.

The bend in the road was close.

"Are these gonna work on those things?" Dean asked. Cas seemed to know what these creatures were, and this close he felt the restless energy of Cas's body beside him, hands clenching and unclenching into fists like he was anxious. And a souped-up Cas being anxious could not be a good thing.

"They will," Cas affirmed. "But Sam is correct. They are faster than any creature of Earth. When they attack us, stay behind me."

When. Dean didn't even have a clue what they were doing here and already they were being followed by crazy supernatural guard dogs that were probably from Hell, or had a particular taste for Winchester flesh or angel blood or something equally disturbing. And Dean'd always thought he and Sam attracted trouble like it was going out of style. Cas really had hung out with them too much.

It hadn't escaped Dean's notice either that Cas didn't have any kind of weapon.

Dean could hear what sounded a whole lot like growling and it was getting louder, drawing closer. The sound reminded Dean of hell hounds, and the tearing, rending sound of his own flesh and bared teeth and fuck, fuck, fuck Dean really hoped these things weren't _that_.

Dean was going to call Cas on it, demand to know what these things were and how the hell he intended to protect them with only his trench coat and his pretty human face. But then, from out of the tree line on either side of the road one of the animals -or demons, or whatever they were- came at them so fast it wasn't much more than a blurry shape with very sharp, very pointy teeth. The sight of it, the sound of snapping jaws and angry growls, made Dean feel fucking sick.

If he'd had time to think about it, Dean would've been glad that there wasn't any time to think before the creatures were on them, and then all Dean could do was react. He lashed out with the knife, arching away from Cas and Sam, towards what he hoped was the beast's throat. There was a feeling of resistance against the blade as the thing streaked past, and Dean heard a high-pitched howling that split his ears and Dean knew he'd at least winged the fucker when it darted away, back toward the trees.

He'd gotten lucky.

For a second Dean thought about going after it, ripping the demon bastard to pieces, but then Sam stumbled against his back and when Dean turned around to see what the hell he was doing, there were two more of the creatures running straight at Cas. They leaped at him, going for his throat, but Cas somehow caught them with his bare hands. Or his freaky angel mojo, because they were about an inch away from Cas's outstretched palms, not touching, and Cas was gritting his teeth and motioning like he was trying to push the things away. They didn't budge an inch.

This close, Dean could see the creature clearly; all spiked blackened porcupine-fur and yellow-red teeth and white, staring eyes set into a sleek dog's head. The body was powerful looking, like a lion or something. Its claws were wicked sharp and tore at the air, stretching, trying to get at Castiel.

"Shoot them!" Dean shouted at Sam. He didn't know what his brother was doing, but Cas didn't look like he could hold them back much longer, and there was still one more out there, nearby, licking its wounds and Dean wasn't optimistic enough to believe it wouldn't be back for more. And soon.

"It's jammed!" Sam had the barrel pointed away, trying to pull back the hammer, but even from where he stood Dean could see the damn thing wasn't going to give.

"Fuck," Dean swore. " _Fuck_."

This was the worst day he'd had since the end of the damn apocalypse and it was all Cas's fault. But whatever, Dean wasn't about to leave Cas to get mauled no matter how much of a pain in the ass he was, so Dean inched his way around Cas, the knife held up. He'd nearly made it to a distance he could get at the creatures from when Cas realised what Dean was doing and blocked him with an elbow.

"I told you to stay behind me." His voice wavered like it was under strain, and really fucking pissed.

"Like I ever do what you say." At the same second as Dean prepared to push past Cas, Dean saw fast, fluid movement somewhere behind him and knew instantly what it was. He knew he should have gone after the damn thing.

The third creature was back, rushing at Dean while he was turned away.

Sometimes Dean really hated being right.

Turning sharply, hoping that Cas could hold on a little longer, Dean went down on one knee, thrust forward and up with both hands around the knife hilt, trying to get a good hit at the creature's exposed flank as it reared up to maul him. Its high-pitched shriek was evidence enough he'd wounded the thing. It veered away, backing off and bleeding and _angry_.

Cas shouted, "Sam, move!" and it was all the warning Dean got before the back of Cas's legs knocked right up against Dean's back, his shoes scuffing against the road surface. The pressure was gone almost immediately, but Dean swore under his breath, unable to take his eyes off the animal in front of him. Not able to look and see what the hell was going on behind him.

There was intelligence in the creature's eyes as it watched Dean, like it knew that Dean wanted to see what was happening with the others, and it was enjoying not letting him get it; keeping him glued to the spot and unable to help. Dean _really_ wanted to kill the fucking thing.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Dean could see Sam stumble back like he'd been shoved. Dean guessed it must have been by Cas because as far as Dean could make out his brother wasn't bleeding.

Sam called out, "Cas!" and there was a screeching sound like nails against a chalk-board that made Dean's teeth ache before Cas was knocked back against Dean again for a second, crying out in pain, and shit, hadn't this day just gone to hell in record time.

Dean could feel Cas pushing forward, could hear his feet adjusting and re-adjusting like he was trying to find good footing, trying to push the creatures away.

To his left, Dean could make out Sam desperately working on the Colt again, and still the lion-hound animal in front of Dean didn't make any move, holding him there. The gnashing and the growling of the beasts tearing at Cas sounded more frenzied, more _satisfied_.

Fuck that. Dean had just damn well got Cas and his brother back and he wasn't about to let some pissy dog creatures ruin it.

Without letting himself consider if it was a good idea or not, Dean struck out, charging the creature in front of him almost recklessly. Dean grinned when he felt the knife bury itself in the thing's snout. It screamed and howled and backed away, blinded by pain. Dean's only regret was that the injury hadn't killed the fucking thing.

He knew enough about wounded animals not to disregard it as a threat, but there was no time to stop and kill it properly. Instead, Dean turned to face the other two animals, moving quickly to stand beside Cas.

One creature Cas still had held back with an outstretched hand, but the other was at his throat and his arm and his shoulder, biting and tearing easily with its long teeth at cloth and flesh. Blood stained a long strip from shoulder to wrist of Cas's damn trench coat, but still Cas was punching it in the head, at its back. No matter how many times he did, the thing just came back for more.

It was the blood, Dean thought. It had tasted Cas's blood and it wanted _more_.

Then, Cas dug his fingers into its eyes and Dean was gratified to hear the creature howl in agony. The fucking thing still didn't let go, instead clamping down its jaws around Cas's forearm. Cas hissed in pain.

Dean took his chance while the creature was too distracted chewing on Cas's arm to notice anything else. He pushed forward, stabbing the knife into the thing's neck, feeling warm blood flowing over his hand. It _still_ didn't let go of Cas so Dean raised the knife high before forcing the blade straight down into its eye socket. Body instantly going slack, it fell to the ground. Dead.

"Dean," Sam warned. He was looking back towards the beast Dean had already wounded. Dean could hear it snarling. He turned to finish the thing off, trusting that Cas could still hold off the third animal, but Cas stopped him with his bloody arm.

The stupid mutt had its nose down, staring right at Dean again and it did not look happy.

"We need to move," Cas said, and without any more explanation than that, grabbed Dean's jacket and pulled him around behind him.

The strain was clear in Cas's eyes as he twisted the arm he still had extended, holding the hound-creature and pushing it back with that invisible grasp. Cas took a breath, another, all his attention on the animal. It strained and fought and snapped and growled but couldn't get away. Then, Cas turned his hand suddenly and there was a snap. The beast's head hung at a weird angle, its tongue out and its eyes open and dead. Cas had broken the damn thing's neck with his mind and that was goddamn scary.

"We run," Cas ordered, drawing back his arm. Cas's left arm shook, and Cas pulled it up close to his chest. The beast must have really sliced deeply, because the red staining the tan sleeve of Cas's coat was growing at an alarming rate, and there was blood dripping to the ground from Cas's wrist. If it was anyone else, Dean would've been worried about blood loss. "It's not far," he hold them, tipping his head back to indicate the way they'd been headed.

Dean wasn't convinced by this plan. "We can outrun them?"

"We can." Cas's tone left no room for argument. He turned towards Dean, eyes burning with irritation and pain. It made Dean wonder why he wasn't healing. "Go," Cas commanded. "Go now."

"We need to kill them," Dean argued, because as great as it'd be to just run the hell away, doing that went against every instinct Dean had. To leave the fuckers alive meant the chance that some poor bastard would come across the hounds some time later, injured and baying for blood, and get ripped to shreds.

"We can't kill them like this," Cas shot back.

"Guys," Sam interrupted. He'd given up on the Colt, and at some point had dug the shotgun out of his duffel. He had it pointed at the creature's head. "Vicious beasts. Can we focus please?"

"Shoot it, Sam," Dean ordered, not entirely sure why Sam was holding off, but Sam fired right between its eyes and the thing fell dead with a loud gun blast and a cut-off howl.

Dean looked back to Cas. "The dead monsters say we can kill them."

"They won't stay dead," Cas said testily then, pre-empting any further arguments he went on, "Now, _run_."

Dean had twenty reasons not to, but Cas had on his seriously pissed face and earlier he'd protected Sam, so Dean figured it was the least Dean could do to trust Cas with this. Maybe it was one of those times when only some obscure weapon from some obscure country would keep the monsters down. Fuck knew he'd seen enough of those in his time.

So Dean took Sam by the elbow and tugged him away, glad he had when he saw one of the beasts, the first one they'd killed with a knife to its brain, beginning to twitch.

Cas stood in front of the brothers, watching them closely, and told them, "The town will be safe. _Run_."

"But, Cas…" Sam protested.

"He's a big boy," Dean cut him off. "Come on."

Dean glanced at Cas, who nodded, still not taking his eyes from the creatures, and then Dean broke into a run, Sam beside him.

They sprinted as fast as they could, making it to the bend in the road in seconds and Dean was beginning to think about looking back because he couldn't hear Cas following, just a freaky whining that was all kinds of wrong.

He began to slow down, Sam matching his pace, but Cas called, "Keep going," and he sounded like he was running now too so Dean didn't stop.

Sam was ahead of him, rounding the bend, and it didn't take long for Cas to catch up.

"Give me your hand," Cas said. It was weird how he wasn't even a little out of breath when he spoke and ran at the same time, even when Dean was starting to feel the burn in his legs, panting for air.

Also, what the hell?

"What?" Dean asked.

Just up ahead, Sam's figure had disappeared behind the thick line of trees. Dean sped up.

"I need your hand," Cas demanded, extending his arm towards Dean. Dean was just glad it wasn't the injured one. That would had to have hurt.

"I'm not," Dean began, but Cas interrupted with a growled, "Give me your hand."

Not waiting for Dean to comply, he grabbed Dean's wrist, his hand slipping down into Dean's. As fucking stupid as he felt, Dean was pretty sure Cas had to have a good reason for doing this, so he just continued to run at full tilt without trying to yank his hand away. Cas's grip was strong, almost crushing, and Dean wasn't sure he'd be able to get away anyway. The hand was warm and dry, and it was a stupid thing to notice when he was running for his life.

Cas had _better_ have a good reason anyway.

Behind them, close and getting closer, Dean could hear the beasts' feet hitting the blacktop, their claws clacking against the hard surface. They were panting heavily, howling and yowling and there were definitely three of them again. Except now they sounded angry and _hungry_. Dean really fucking hoped Cas knew what he was doing.

They made it to the turn, and as soon as they'd rounded the corner Dean could see the town ahead, a fence and a neatly mowed lawn bordering the first house not far off. Sam stood in the middle of the road a few feet away from it, shotgun held up and ready to fire.

"We pass the town limit," Cas said. "We'll be safe."

Opposite the nearest house, Dean noticed the sign proclaiming, _Welcome to Spring Green_ , old and beat up and faded.

Dean guessed that was where they needed to be because Cas ran faster -much faster than he ever should have been able to- pretty much pulling Dean along. He was looking right at the sign. Dean's legs burned with the strain.

"Come on," Sam called back to them, "Hurry up!" Which was not even a little helpful because Dean _knew_ that much and he was breathing hard, and his arm felt like it was about to be pulled out of its socket the way Cas was dragging him, and from the look on Sam's face the beasts were a lot closer to their heels than he'd like.

They couldn't have been more than ten feet from Sam when Dean felt something slice down the back of his shoulder like a knife. He couldn't stop himself crying out, but there was no way was he going to stop now so he pushed on, ignoring the burning pain. Cas fell back, letting Dean lead.

Five feet, then two feet, then right at the line of the town border. Suddenly, Dean hit some kind of resistance, like the air was somehow thicker for just a second, and then it was gone.

As soon as Dean was through, he was yanked back, his arm pulled painfully back where he was still holding on to Cas. He twisted around, not letting go of Cas's hand, somehow knowing that that would be a very bad thing, and he could see that whatever the resistance was it was trying to push Cas out and away.

"Sam!" Dean called, and immediately Sam was there, reaching out and grabbing hold of Cas's shoulder, pulling him in towards them.

Over Cas's shoulder Dean could see the beasts snapping at Cas's heels, trying to get a bite. Dean yanked harder and Cas's face twisted in pain, but slowly he moved forward, dragged through the resistance, and then, like there'd never been anything there, the barrier was gone and Cas fell forward into the two brothers, knocking them to the ground.

On the other side of the border the beasts hissed and growled and snapped angrily, prowling back and forth along the borderline, but they didn't try to cross into the town.

Dean didn't like to think what it meant that in front of them all three creatures looked back at him with sharp eyes, whole and alive and not a scratch on them.


	2. Chapter 2

Walking into town was like stepping into one of those tacky fake-historical amusement parks that normal people with mortgages and families and grandparents went mad for. 

The houses were too neat and tidy, large and set back off the street in orderly rows, no broken windows or busted sidings or trash on the front lawns. Every single one of them was painted in washed out yellows and blues, trying for cosy and welcoming, but to Dean it all just somehow ended up coming across as creepy and disturbing. The sidewalks were pristine, and Dean had yet to see a single crack or pothole in the roads they'd walked beside. Gardens were without a single weed or a flower out of place.

Dean could believe Cas's insistence that the town didn't exist.

They stopped at a diner somewhere close to the fake-old town hall, complete with arched fake-gothic windows and pointed, spiral turrets. It was busy, filled with what Dean guessed was the lunch crowd, but the diner customers barely spared the three of them a second glance as they walked in the door, even though Cas's right side was heavy with blood and his coat ripped. Dean's back probably didn't look much better. No matter how weird it was to be ignored, looking like they did and especially in a small town like this, Dean and Sam took the opportunity and steered Cas toward the back, piling into the bathroom. 

"Take off the coat, Cas," Dean ordered as soon as he'd shut and locked the door. He grabbed a handful of paper towels, passing them under the faucet before handing them to Sam. Shucking off his own jacket made his back burn and sting, but the wound didn't feel too deep. 

Cas hadn't moved and instead was looking down at himself somewhere between irritated and curious. "I should be able to heal," he said. The 'should' in that sentence was just about the last thing Dean wanted to hear, and made his stomach turn uncomfortably.

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean demanded. 

Behind him, Sam pried the material of Dean's shirt away from his clawed back and Dean hissed at the sensation of skin being pulled away along with the cotton. Dumping the shirt on the tile floor, that looked as clean and disinfected as the rest of the town, Sam pressed the towels down hard against the wound and Dean instinctively tried to flinch away. It hurt like a bitch, and Dean was almost glad he couldn't see it. He leaned against the sink, taking deep breaths, and didn't look at himself in the mirror. 

Sam gripped hold of his shoulder, saying, "Keep still, Dean," and pressing down even harder like his asshole little brother was trying to prove some kind of point. "Cas, are you still bleeding?" Sam asked, looking at their clueless little angel in the mirror. Cas was hovering behind them, inspecting the bloodstains on his sleeve like they were some weird foreign object. 

Dean thought he really should've felt more pissed that Cas replied to Sam, when he hadn't answered Dean at all.

"No, I think," Cas said, his hands pressing a hand to his shoulder. "They are healing slowly."

"You're all super-powerful though these days, right?" Dean had seen exactly how souped-up Cas had become back at the old cemetery in Lawrence; bringing back the dead like it was the easiest thing in the world. In comparison, a little healing shouldn't have taken more than a thought.

"I'm-" Castiel began, then paused and looked up at the brothers. "It's this place," he told them, frowning. "This doesn't make sense."

"This whole thing doesn't make any sense, Cas," Dean replied dryly. "You tell us to meet you, you don't tell me why, we get mauled by crazy, rabid wolf-creatures from hell that won't follow us into this creepy-ass town and now you're not healing? The fuck is going on here?" 

Dean was angry at how tight-lipped Cas was being, because he'd spent too much time being kept in the dark by dick angels in the past, not knowing what the hell was going on, and he thought they were over this secretive shit. Then again, Dean'd thought Cas had been around humanity long enough to learn to keep in touch with the people you'd fought with for two years. And freaking _died_ for. 

"That's not helping, Dean," Sam chided. He pulled back the towels and Dean felt cool air against his open wounds. "Hold this here," he ordered, pulling Dean's hand up to awkwardly hold the towels in place over his shoulder. Sam turned, reaching for Cas. It was a small bathroom, not really big enough for three people, but somehow Sam managed to strip off Cas's trench coat before the angel even had a chance to protest.

"Does it hurt?" Sam asked, helping Cas take off the suit jacket. The arms were so torn up it looked like it'd fit in perfectly at a Halloween party. 

"It… does," Castiel replied, sounding unsure. 

Sam made a worried face, pushing up the sleeves of Cas's red-stained shirt and _Jesus_ , no wonder it fucking hurt.

The cuts on Cas's arms were bone deep, ugly, jagged infected-looking lines that made Sam draw in a breath and curse, "Holy shit, Cas." 

Dean guessed it was only the fact that the slashes had stopped bleeding that Sam didn't lose his shit and go into full-on responsible-adult-we-have-to-get-you-to-a-hospital-this-second mode. 

"They're healing," Cas repeated, but even he looked kind of queasy at the sight of his arms. 

Sam leaned in closer, gently holding Cas's wrist and angling his arm towards him, which Dean thought was pretty damn brave. "Crap," he said. "Yeah. I can see that." 

"May I put my coat back on now?" Cas asked, and he sounded so plaintive that Dean couldn't help but huff a laugh. Cas looked at him, annoyed. Like _he_ had anything to be pissed about. 

"If you're sure you'll heal," Sam replied dubiously. He kind of looked like he was trying to hide a smile too. 

"I am."

Sam helped Cas back into his trench coat, in all its ripped up glory. 

Cas said, "I apologise for getting you involved in this."

"You called us. Hard to see how you didn't mean for us to get involved," Dean pointed out.

"I only meant for you to help me across the barrier. You don't have to stay here."

"Like hell," Dean argued. "Don't see how we're going to get past those monsters at the gate without getting mauled to death all over again."

"They're of no concern to anyone leaving the town," Cas said dismissively. "They're guardians. I have said this."

Whether Cas had said it before or not, it still made absolutely no sense to Dean. In all the time Cas had been absent, Dean certainly hadn't missed his unhelpful, vague explanations.

Pulling away from Cas to look him in the face, Sam said, "They're guarding this town? To keep people out? Why?"

Cas shook his head. "I don't know." He sighed heavily, suddenly looking tired. Dean wondered what Cas had been doing for the past few months. If he'd had to fight. If he had anyone watching his back. His coat, still ripped, frayed, stained red in places, and hanging heavily from his shoulders just made him look worse. 

Leaning back against the bathroom wall, Cas explained, "Four angels disappeared from Heaven. I tracked them to this place to find that only mortals can cross the border. I just needed you to breach the barrier for me so that I could force my way through. You don't need to stay."

At the thought of angels running around still gunning for Lucifer, that they might be back to dealing with that shit all over again, Dean felt his anger rise. "The fuck, Cas? Haven't we finished with this crap?" 

"I'm doing my best," Cas shot back darkly. "I am one angel with, at best, dubious authority. I am not all-powerful."

It was maybe kind of shitty to bitch at Cas, the only angel who'd stood on the side of humanity, who'd stood with Dean and Sam to the end, but there was no one else and after Lucifer and Sam and Michael and Adam had fallen into the pit Cas had just left Dean alone without so much as a half-hearted goodbye.

"What do I know, Cas? I haven't seen you in months and when you finally show up you want something from us. What a fucking surprise."

Sam pulled a face and turned to the door. "I'm gonna go see if they've got a first aid kit," and was out the bathroom like a shot, closing the door firmly behind him.

Cas watched Sam leave, and didn't look back at Dean when he said, "I did not believe you wanted to have anything more to do with angels."

"I don't. Didn't." 

The thing was, Dean hadn't ever really lumped Cas into the category of "dick angel", no matter how much of an annoying bastard he'd been at times.

"Cas, you just left without a trace, and, I don't know, we'd been through so much shit I thought you'd at least bother to check in now and again. See if I was alive. Tell me that Sam was out of hell."

Dean didn't even know why this bothered him so much, that Cas had stayed away. Why Dean hadn't been glad to see the back of all the angels. Except, apparently, he hadn't. He just didn't know what to make of Cas's return. 

Even more annoying, as much as Cas might say Dean and Sam didn't have to stay, the sneaky bastard had to know there was no way they'd leave now. There was no way they'd leave Cas alone and shredded to pieces in some freak-show town.

Then Cas said, "I did not stop watching either one of you."

Cas, Dean decided, always knew how to take the creepy stalker act to whole new levels. 

And Dean knew he was soft on the damn angel, because he was weirdly relieved to hear that Cas hadn't just gone back to Heaven and forgotten about them after all.

***

The diner was small, the customers and the furniture all closely packed together, and Sam watched with interest as their waitress navigated her way from their corner table through a maze of tight spaces and pushed out chairs to the kitchens.

Sam asked, "What about the people?"

Cas replied, frowning into his coffee, "They are real."

Dean could believe that too.

On every corner, on pretty much every notice board and street lamp someone had posted missing persons posters. Women, men, kids, dogs, cats; Dean had begun to think that half the population of the town was missing. It'd been impossible to miss on their walk into town.

There was a weird atmosphere too, like everyone knew that something was wrong, and knew what it was, but no one was willing to say anything. Or maybe they just didn't know how to even begin explaining it. People whispered on street corners, and in the diner, every conversation Dean picked up on was about another friend, or sister, or mother vanished into thin air. No one knew what the hell to do about it. 

Dean, Sam and Cas sat in a corner of a diner in a small town, messed up with torn clothes and half-cleaned off blood and no one made anything of it. 

"If they're real, how'd they end up here?" Sam asked, keeping his voice low. "If this town isn't real?"

"I don't know," Cas replied. "When I came here, I didn't know what to expect. I couldn't see what was within the borders of this town."

"Okay," Dean said, "But what do you mean this town doesn't exist? Looks pretty solid to me." 

"Three weeks ago you would not have found it on a map. It was forest. There was no road," Cas explained. He looked up and around the room, his eyes following the movements of the people milling about the diner like he was trying to work out how they could possibly exist. "I've been following the four angels for several days, since they absconded from Heaven. Their trail led me here."

"You think they had something to do with making this place, then?" Sam had on his thoughtful face. Dean doubted any amount of trying to work things out logically was going to help where angels were concerned. 

"I'm not sure." Cas looked back towards Sam. "This could only have been made by something much more powerful than the four of them." 

While it concerned Dean that there were still angels out there on Earth doing who the fuck knew what, it bothered Dean even more that Cas was doing this alone, without any of his so-called brothers. And if this was something that even four angels didn't have enough mojo for, then Cas was really fucked.

"And you were going to take it on, whatever it is, on your own?" 

Even to Dean that was a pretty fucking stupid thing to do. Even if he had done it himself. But then, Dean had never claimed to be any kind of role model. 

Cas shifted uncomfortably. "I have little choice," he said. 

"What about your brothers?" Dean demanded. "Aren't you head honcho? Order down a squadron of attack-angels or something."

Sam threw Dean an ugly face, and Dean would have told him to shut up if Cas hadn't tensed up at the mention of his brothers.

"I do not have enough... trust in them yet," he replied. "To allow them to come to Earth."

Which made a whole lot of sense, knowing how little angels gave a shit about humanity. Or pretty much anything other than their own shiny hides. 

"You've got them all grounded?" Dean scoffed.

Cas shook his head. "I don't have that kind of power. I ordered it. Most of them are obeying, but I can't allow dissent."

"Or you'll lose authority." Sam was nodding sagely, like he had any idea what it took to rule the heavenly host.

"It is something of an irony," Cas said, one corner of his lips turning upwards in what Dean guessed was amusement.

It kind of was too, because Cas had gotten to where he was by disobedience and for him to then turn around and demand absolute obedience was massively hypocritical. Dean knew exactly what he'd think of that if he were an angel. But what did he know? Angels had some weird ideas, and definitely seemed a whole lot happier when someone was ordering them around. Cas certainly didn't seem too pleased to be in charge.

The waitress returned to check on them just as a drunk-looking guy crashed his way through the door into the diner. He was a mess, his clothes torn and stained and he definitely hadn't shaved in at least a week. Dean watched as he tripped over his own feet and steadied himself against the wall. Dean'd seen his fair share of drunks, but there was something different about this guy. His shoulders were hunched and his eyes haunted and tired like most of the wanderers Dean had ever seen, but this guy's pants and jacket looked like they'd once been a fairly good suit. He wore a shirt that looked like expensive material, that under all the stains and creases had maybe once been white. He didn't look hungry. 

Beside Dean, the waitress swore under her breath.

"Phil. Jesus." An old, stout guy hurried out from the kitchen, headed straight towards the new arrival. "I told you to get help." 

"I don't need help," the drunk, Phil, Dean guessed, said. His voice was rough and angry. He stumbled further into the diner, falling sideways into a table, knocking over a glass and sending knives and forks crashing to the floor. The customers at the table leaned away, scrabbling to clean up the mess and save their meals. 

From the way the old guy ordered the waitresses to help with the clean up, and to get back to work, Dean guessed he owned the place. He approached the drunk with his hands held out in front of him. 

"Come on, Phil," he said. "These good people are trying to eat." 

Phil straightened and glared at the other man wrathfully. "Fuck you, Greg," he spat. "I've told you a thousand times we're not eating _anything_." He spread his arms wide. "All this isn't real. It's all just fucking crap. False. We're all going to hell, and we all know it."

Dean looked at Sam, then at Cas, who was watching the scene intently. For a drunk, this Phil guy was suspiciously well informed. He didn't sound like he was slurring either, which made Dean wonder if the guy really was a drunk at all. He was the dirtiest, most not-perfect thing Dean had seen in the town. The _only_ non-creepy, too-normal person they'd come across. Except for themselves.

Cas's eyes were following every movement the guy made intently, his eyes narrowed like he was straining to focus on something more. He was certainly seeing something they weren't.

"You've just had a rough time," the diner-guy tried. "I know your wife and kids are missing, and I'm sorry, but it's the same for all of us here."

With his large arms, the old man gestured widely towards the diners.

A tense silence fell over the room, like it was some kind of taboo to talk about the disappearances in public like that. Phil just laughed. "Missing?" He shook his head. "They're not _missing_." Even if he wasn't a drunk, something was definitely up because Phil swayed dangerously, unsteady on his feet even though he wasn't moving anywhere and looking like he was going to fall over any second.

Suddenly, moving almost faster than Dean could believe, Phil pulled a knife from his jacket pocket and Dean's assessment went from drunk to crazy in an instant. He kept still though, too far away in the corner to do anything immediately but remained alert, looking for an opportunity but not wanting to spook the guy into doing anything stupid. Dean laid his hands on the table, but was very aware of the knife in his pocket and the handgun in his belt. Beside him, Sam was doing the same. Cas sat as serenely as ever, watching, as though nothing had changed.

There was panic in the diner then, some of the customers screaming and tipping over their chairs and running to the back of the room. Phil was still in front of the door, and Dean was glad that no one made an attempt to get past him. Standing frozen beside them, their waitress dropped her notepad and half-ran, half-fell along the line of booths towards the kitchen. 

"You can all run, little rats," Phil the crazy guy hissed. "It's not me you should be scared of. You all _deserve_ to be here." 

He thrust the knife at the old guy who still had his hands up, placating.

"Phil," old-guy said nervously. "We've known each other for years."

"No." Phil shook his head fiercely, taking an unsteady step closer. "I don't know you." He stood up straighter, looking around the diner. "I don't know _any of you_." 

Then, his eyes came to their corner of the diner, and Dean could see that Phil was looking right at Cas. The crazy-guy's eyes opened wide, his mouth dropping open and his face going suddenly pale. And then he went fucking _insane_.

"You!" he screamed, lifting his arm in a sharp, violent movement and pointing the knife at Cas. "You don't even _belong_ here! You're like _them_." Cas tensed, but didn't move, and Dean's hand went to his knife. Phil charged forward, knocking people and tables out the way, slashing anything in his path with the knife, coming straight for Cas. 

There was confusion as customers and waitresses tried to get out of the lunatic's way. Cas stood up with a concerned expression on his face but made no move to defend himself, and even if Dean had seen Cas take knives to the chest without so much as blinking before, he'd also recently seen Cas ripped to shreds by a thing that wasn't far off a hell-hound as far as Dean was concerned. Dean should know. The angel wasn't even healed yet from that, his coat still looking tatty and stained in places and his movements slow and careful. Dean wasn't about to let Cas take a hit just because he could, especially from a crazy dude who was calling Cas a liar and a murderer and a whole lot of other things Dean would've liked to punch the guy for.

As soon as he was within reach, Dean launched himself from the booth, wrapping his arms around the attacker's legs and bringing him to the floor. The action pulled at the wounds on Dean's back, and he had to grit his teeth and hope Sam's neat bandaging hadn't been torn away, but it was ridiculously easy to take the guy down. He hadn't even seen it coming, too caught up in whatever madness he had going on. Sam was beside Dean in a second, pulling Phil's arm around his back and taking the knife from his grip. The guy was freaky strong and kept bucking and thrashing, but together Sam and Dean kept him still.

"I'll call the police," Dean heard someone say, and yeah, that would be a really great idea. 

Phil the crazy-guy was still spilling vitriol at Cas, crying, "Why'd you bring us here, you bastard? Why'd you do this? You lied to us, you fucker. You fucking _lied_."

Cas approached slowly, and even though Dean warned, "Back off, Cas," he knelt down on one knee in front of Phil's prone form, held under Sam and Dean's grip. He met Phil's eyes, holding his gaze until he fell silent. Then Cas said, "I believe you've mistaken me for someone else."

Dean should've seen it coming, and stopped Cas, but he was concentrating on holding his shoulder still so it didn't sting too bad, and pressing Phil down onto the diner's linoleum floor. But then, in one fluid movement, Cas raised two fingers to the man's forehead. Instantly, all the fight went out of his attacker, his body gone slack in unconsciousness. 

Dean had the very strong feeling the entire diner was watching them, and there was going to be one hell of a lot of explaining to do.


	3. Chapter 3

Without a car or a highway or anything like normal, Dean was forced to check into an actual hotel in town, with multiple floors and an elevator and room service and a concierge and all other kinds of crap Dean neither needed nor trusted. It made Dean's skin crawl. But then, the whole fucking _town_ made Dean's skin crawl.

The receptionist had given the three of them one of the sourest looks Dean had ever seen, and told them this was a family establishment and to keep the noise down after ten. Like they were going to go straight to their room and have a big gay orgy or something. Cas's polite nod and serious, "We will be mindful of the noise," really hadn't helped.

Dean had forgotten how literally the damn angel took everything; he'd been close to gagging Cas when they'd had to give their statements to the local police after Phil the Crazy Guy had passed out. Or, more accurately, been made to pass out by Cas. Lucky for them everyone in the whole town seemed oblivious to Cas's attempts to tell them he had sent the man to sleep for his own safety. It was weird, but Dean had a feeling the locals almost couldn't see Cas. Like he was only half there.

They never asked him direct questions, and never looked him in the eye. Dean knew Sam had noticed it too because his brother made a concerted effort to direct questions to Cas, including Cas in his conversations, trying to gauge the local's reactions. Now that Dean thought about it, their waitress had been the same. She'd taken Dean and Sam's orders, and looked kind of confused when Dean ordered a third coffee. Cas didn't seem concerned, and shook his head dismissively when Dean had asked him about his apparent invisibility and told him, "It's not a major concern." Which Dean took as Cas-speak for not having a clue what was going on.

Just as the sky was turning grey with heavy clouds, the unconscious body of Phil was carted off to the station and Sam and Dean and Cas, and the rest of the customers, were finally released from the diner. It was late afternoon and the wind had picked up. They looked set for rain and Dean worried about the Impala, left alone and abandoned on the outskirts of town. He really hoped those damn hellhounds wouldn't see her as a threat. Dean couldn't bring himself to follow that thought through any further.

Finding a hotel hadn't been easy. The townsfolk weren't particularly friendly or helpful, and finding something within their limited price-range, within walking distance had been a nightmare. It was dark and getting to cold by the time they found a room.

Three floors up and at the end of a narrow, windowless hallway, the room had three beds, because the receptionist hadn't seemed inclined to give them anything else, and barely enough room to move around between them. There was a desk, old and solidly made, with a chair that creaked when Cas sat down on it. The wallpaper was a plain, functional white and green. Dean thought the decorators had maybe been thinking the colour scheme would be calming or something, but it had just ended up looking kind of clinical and ugly. The room, like the town, was spotless and tidy, and Dean couldn't see any patches of dry rot or a single water stain anywhere. The brownish green carpet was impeccably clean, and it made Dean want to spill coffee and gun oil all over it.

They had a corner room with windows on two walls and Dean could hear the glass rattling in its old frames. When Dean looked out, he could see the main street below, diffused light from the shop fronts illuminating the road. It was almost empty of people now that the rain was starting to fall and it had gotten to dark.

Dean pulled the curtains closed tightly and turned back to the room to see Sam switching on the reading lamps, pulling out his computer and booting it up. His brother pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged on the bed in front of the laptop. The bed sagged and creaked loudly as Sam shifted.

"You think this place has Internet?" Dean asked. Places that didn't actually exist weren't likely to have good communications. His phone hadn't had a signal all day.

Sam shrugged. "Won't hurt to try. If not, we're going to have to do this the old-fashioned way."

Dean groaned.

"What is the old-fashioned way?" Cas asked. He shifted on the wooden chair like he was uncomfortable, his arms resting stiffly on this legs.

"Libraries," Dean explained, trying to impart his disgust at the prospect. "Books. Records. _Handwriting_."

"It's slow, but it's all we've got to go on a lot of the time," Sam agreed, sounding resigned.

Cas looked between them curiously. "What is it you hope to find?"

"Something about this town that might help us understand what's going on here. It's how we've always worked with cases like this," Sam explained, eyes fixed on the computer screen.

"Cases like this," Cas repeated. "You've never had a case like this."

Dean sat himself down on the bed closest to Cas. "Crazy town. Crazy people. We've had it before. What else are we supposed to do?"

Sam snorted, but he was nodding emphatically.

"Look for the missing angels," Cas said.

"Not our speciality," Dean said lightly. "More your thing."

Castiel bowed his head, conceding the point, then made to stand up. "You're right. I shall seek them out."

Every instinct told Dean the sensible thing to do was to split up on this. Cas didn't need to sleep. Dean and Sam couldn't transport themselves instantly, or go off flying to wherever Cas could to search out his missing angels. As far as Dean could tell there wasn't any immediate threat from the town, unless you counted the one crazy they'd come across earlier, and Cas still had enough of his angel-juice to defend himself against any humans. Pretty much all a human could do to him was maybe hurt his feelings. If he even still had any of those.

When he'd been falling into humanity Cas had been a whole mess of contradictions between emotion and stubborn stoicism, and Dean'd almost gotten used to that, at the end. He'd accepted that was the way Cas was going to be. Now it was like all that was gone. Cas's face was impassive and Dean was back to finding it almost impossible to read the angel's body language. He'd once thought he'd gotten quite good at it and he felt the not-knowing like a loss.

Dean didn't know if it was just this place, but there had been pain when the wolf-creatures had slashed at him, and sometimes Dean thought that when Cas stared at him there was some fondness there. Like maybe he'd missed Dean. Or maybe that was just Dean's imagination.

He didn't know why, but the thought of Cas leaving made him angry. Unhappy. Something in Dean thought that if Cas left now he wouldn't be coming back. Dean wasn't going to call it panic, but something made him reach out and grab Cas's wrist before the angel bastard had the chance to flit off anywhere.

"You shouldn't leave," Dean said, desperately trying to understand just what the fuck he thought he was doing, and at the same time trying to come up with a good reason for Cas to stay. "We should stick together."

It was lame as hell, but Cas looked up from where he was staring at Dean's fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist. It might've been Dean's imagination but he could've sworn Cas smiled, just a small lifting of the corners of his mouth. "I should stay."

Dean held onto Cas's wrist, just watching Cas watch him and Cas didn't seem inclined to move either.

"Err," Sam said hesitantly and Dean realised he'd forgotten that Sam was even there, still sitting on his bed in front of his laptop. "There's no Internet."

Sam shuffled off the mattress, closing the computer and shoving it under his arm, picking up the keys off the bedside table and pulling on his jacket. "I'm going to check downstairs. I'll be back in... a while."

Dean didn't watch his brother leave, just said, "Cool," and heard the door close behind him. It struck Dean that just a second ago Dean had been saying they should all stick together, and now he was letting Sam wander off on his own. But Sam was a big boy, and he'd said he was only going downstairs. Dean was pretty sure even Sam couldn't get into any trouble going down a few flights of stairs.

And Cas was here. Right in front of Dean. Watching.

He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another, standing awkwardly. "Sit down, Cas," Dean told him, and was kind of stunned when Cas actually obeyed. They were leaning towards each other, Dean noticed. "You healed?" he asked, because even if Cas's clothes were now mostly mended, the way Cas hunched in on himself, and the tightness around his eyes told Dean he was still in some pain.

"For the most part," Cas said dismissively, which was enough of a no for Dean to shake his head and stand up, starting to push the trench coat off Cas's shoulders.

"Let me see," Dean demanded.

"They are healing, Dean," Cas insisted. There was a hint of that earlier irritation in his tone. "There is nothing you can do to assist me."

"Humour me."

Dean waited for a long moment while Cas stared back, still with his hands on Cas's shoulders, before the angel nodded and let Dean strip off the coat, then his jacket, and his shirt.

"I don't understand why you and Sam keep insisting I take my clothes off," Cas sighed, and he sounded so put out that Dean couldn't help but laugh.

"Maybe we're taking advantage," Dean quipped.

"I'm not a fool, Dean," Castiel retorted. "Nor do I believe either of you would, even if you could."

The comment made Dean pause because, okay, it was probably true, but sometimes Dean really wished it wasn't. Like now.

Outside, the rain was coming down heavily now, battering loudly against the windows in the silence of the room. It had really turned into a storm.

Sam was still gone. Cas was here with his chest and his arms and his back exposed and it was the first time Dean could ever remember looking at a man like this. Like maybe he wanted to touch that skin and find out what it tasted like.

Fuck.

This was Cas, and Cas was an angel and this was fucking ridiculous. Something wasn't right here. He wanted something he never had before, or at least, something he'd never allowed himself to believe he could ever have, and Cas was looking back at Dean like he'd give it, if Dean asked.

Shit.

Cas's arms were all cut up still, criss-crossed with sore-looking red lines. Definitely healing but they'd still hurt to touch, so Dean didn't. At least, he thought, he still had that much self-control. There were healing scars along his stomach and chest too, but nothing on his shoulders so Dean put his hands there, feeling warm skin under his fingers instead of cool fabric. Dean had no clue what the hell he was doing. What the hell he was _thinking_.

Cas's voice was quiet, low and close when he said, "Dean," and reached out towards Dean, gripping Dean's lower arms loosely, pushing himself back up onto his feet so they were face to face. Even closer.

There it was. Welcome. Promise. Acceptance. And it was too much.

"There's something not right here," Dean said, and it hurt to say it because there wasn't. There was nothing wrong with this. This was what Dean wanted. This was why Dean was so pissed at Cas for leaving him alone. This was why he wanted the bastard back. Why he worried Cas was going to get himself killed somehow without Dean and Sam to watch his back.

Cas replied, "Yes," and Dean really had no idea what he was agreeing to, and _God_ , Dean wanted to kiss him and... other things. Cas's skin- Jimmy's skin- whatever, was warm and pliant under Dean's hands and Dean wanted more so he let his fingers trail over Cas's shoulders to his back to ghost over the hard planes of his shoulder blades. He didn't think Cas had been injured on his back, but he was cautious anyway, went slow, didn't pull or push, wanting to give Cas every opportunity to stop Dean. Wanting Cas to know that he could say no. But Cas continued to meet Dean's eyes, pulling his arms in and along the underside of Dean's arms to his chest so that Dean's hands could fall lower, stroking at Cas's side. And Dean hoped to fuck Cas wouldn't say no now. He could show him so many good things. Dean could show Cas exactly how much he wanted this.

With his hands firmly on Cas's hips, fingers pushing just under the waistband of his pants, Dean lowered himself down onto his knees, twisting awkwardly in the small space between the bed and the chair. The movement pulled at the healing slash across his back, but he ignored it, because he had Cas under his hands, shifting his stance to make room for Dean. He rubbed his thumbs all along the waistline of Cas's slacks, leaning in to kiss at his stomach. Under his lips, Dean could feel Cas breathe in sharply at the touch.

Dean would like to have said he had no idea where this was going, but he did, because he was thinking about touching Cas where the angel had almost certainly never been touched before, and it made him feel fucking awesome, hot as hell, and it was really damn hard not to just rip open Cas's pants right then.

Cas was looking down at Dean, his eyes half-closed but still intent. Unreadable. And Dean had to be sure, so he pulled back, keeping his hands held still on Cas's waist. Dean wanted to touch and he wanted more and he wanted it _right now_ , but this was Cas and more than anything Dean didn't want to scare the guy away by being a horny, fucked-up human, no matter how true it was.

"Cas?" he asked.

They stared at each other for what felt like forever because Dean was half-turned on and Cas was _right there_. Cas's hands rested between Dean's neck and shoulder blades, stroking at his hair and at his skin, brushing against his ears. Dean could feel his inhuman strength in his fingers when Cas gripped at Dean's shoulders. It reminded Dean what exactly Cas was, and the thought made heat pool somewhere beneath Dean's belly. The wait was excruciating, and Dean started to doubt himself. That Cas didn't want him like this. That Cas couldn't do this. That Cas was just going along with this because he didn't understand.

Except Cas had said he wasn't a fool, and he had watched humans for a long time. Dean wasn't so blind to miss that there was affection in the way Cas looked at him sometimes.

Then Cas's hands slid up to Dean's face and pulled him up, closer, and leaned down to kiss Dean.

Dean had no fucking idea why he'd never thought to do this before, because Cas might have been a virgin angel- or at least, as far as Dean knew he still was- but he knew how to kiss.

His lips were dry but moved confidently, heatedly, and Dean found himself pushing into Cas, bringing his arms up to press against Cas's back, and then there was a whole lot of tongue and Jesus Christ Cas was pushing back. His hands held onto the back of Dean's head, his fingers played in Dean's hair, pulling his head closer even though Dean was pretty sure there was no way they could get their mouths any more crushed together.

Cas tasted like clean air and not much else but it was good, so damn _good_ , and Dean could've sworn he was getting light-headed because they hadn't come up for air at all, and it didn't look like Cas had any intention of stopping anytime soon. Damn angels not needing to breathe.

Dean couldn't stop touching, ran his hands from Cas's back, around to his chest, over lean muscle that felt taut beneath his fingers. Dean could feel every movement Cas made and he kissed Cas down the line of his neck and sucked at his collarbone. Dean was certain Cas had liked that because he arched his neck back, leaned over even further even though he was already bent almost in two. Dean breathed air against the pulse of Cas's body along the line of his throat, fast and getting faster, and Dean could relate because his skin felt so heated he thought he was going to burn up.

Cas said, "Dean," and Dean could feel the vibrations of Cas's voice against his lips and all Dean could think was that, fuck, yes, this was how it was supposed to go. He needed it. He couldn't wait.

Dean took the way Cas sighed his name, and the way he brushed fingers across Dean's face, and how he met Dean's tongue with his own as permission enough. Still kissing Cas, his neck aching from the strange angle and Dean really not caring at all. Dean felt his way to the buttons of Cas's pants, undid them slowly, drew down the zipper. It really wasn't as difficult as he'd expected. It wasn't as strange as he'd thought it'd be to feel another man's dick, to put his hands on it and to want more of it. To want to do a whole slew of really sordid things with it that Dean had only ever seen in pornos. And Cas was letting him, his breath stuttering, making small, choked-off noises in the back of his throat that Dean felt against his lips more than heard.

He pushed Cas away a little, not quite believing what he was going to do but determined to try. His own cock ached almost painfully, still shut up in his jeans, and wouldn't it just be freaking embarrassing if Dean went and came in his pants just from touching Cas like this. From licking down his sides, open-mouthed, feather-light kisses against the wounds there. Dean pulled Cas out, rubbing a thumb along the underside and felt its hardness and the softness of the skin. Dean wasn't surprised when Cas's hips stuttered forward, pushing himself into Dean's hand. Cas ran a hand through Dean's hair, mumbling in a language Dean had never heard.

When Dean put his lips around Cas, even that wasn't weird. It was just sex. And want. And lust. And Cas. And Dean had put his tongue in a hell of a lot weirder places.

It was pretty awesome when Cas choked back a moan at the first touch of tongue against him. By the time Dean had taken the whole head in his mouth and started really going at it Cas was panting, and Dean knew he wouldn't last long.

Something about how unselfconsciously Cas rocked into him and held Dean tightly and growled and hissed when Dean licked from base to tip reminded Dean then that this was Cas's first time, probably. And Dean was going to make it _mind-blowing_. There'd been so much shit to deal with when there'd been an apocalypse happening, and Dean was fairly certain Cas had gotten a really craptastic view of humanity, courtesy of the Winchesters. Dean was going to put that right. He would show Cas that humans had at least gotten a few things right, and sex was definitely one of them.

If the sounds Cas was making were anything to go by, he was getting the message.

There wasn't much skill going on, and Dean had about as much experience doing this as Cas likely did, but he knew what he'd liked so he went with that. Tongue loose, lips tight, careful of his teeth, and it didn't take long before Dean felt Cas tugging at his hair, warning, "Dean, Dean."

Never let it be said that Dean wasn't the adventurous type, but even he wasn't ready for Cas to come down his throat, so he pulled back, replacing his mouth with his hand.

"Let go, Cas," he urged, twisting his hand, moving faster. "Let it happen."

And Cas did.

He bent himself close, his eyes locked onto Dean's, and pulled Dean into a sloppy kiss.

Cas came with Dean's name and Dean's tongue on his lips, eyes wide open.

As they both came down from the rush of it, Dean held Cas's gaze, jerking him slowly through the last pulses of pleasure, not caring that he had Cas's come on his shirt. Castiel's eyes were still focused, even though his breathing came heavily and Dean could feel his flushed, heated skin under his fingertips, Cas still pushing up into Dean's hand in an unsteady rhythm, like his movements were involuntary.

Against the rattling windows, Dean could hear the rain had turned to hail, beating out a furious tapping sound.

He waited for Cas's breath to even out, for him to relax, kind of surprised by his own patience, but Dean wanted Cas to feel everything. To remember everything. To not leave him again. To stay in this room, with Dean, and kiss and fuck and not move from the bed until they were sweaty with sex and Dean was starving and aching. The thought that Cas would never tire, would never sleep, would never need to eat or drink turned Dean on even more. Cas was stronger, more powerful than Dean ever would be. He could break Dean with a thought, but he chose to let Dean do this to him. He chose to let Dean do messy, human things to him and if the look in Cas's eyes and the redness of his lips was anything to go by, Cas liked it too.

Dean was harder than he thought he'd ever been in his life- and that was really saying something- aching to be released from his jeans. For Cas's touch on him.

His knees were starting to ache from kneeling for so long, from all the movement, and Cas's awkward stance didn't look any more comfortable, so Dean stood up, let Cas help him up as his stiff legs unfolded and straightened until they were both standing, chest to chest. Up close, Dean took in Cas's flushed face and wet lips and wide eyes thinking, he'd been responsible for that, before kissing him again, and then again. Dean kept his hands low on Cas's hips, enjoyed the feel of Cas's fingers kneading into the muscles of his shoulders and his neck and raking at his hair.

"Cas," Dean said, and maybe he was pleading, because he needed something. Needed more of Cas.

Cas seemed to understand because he nodded and pushed Dean back onto the bed behind them, following Dean as he crawled his way up higher on the mattress, their mouths still trying to stay together. Dean drew away only to pull his shirt quickly over his head, throwing it onto the floor. Between his legs, Cas got busy trying to undo Dean's pants and just from that, from the brush of Cas's hands against the denim and the concentrated, determined look on Cas's face, Dean thought he would come. It was torture, the way Cas's fingers played over his crotch and at his zipper so Dean reached towards Cas, took his face in his hands and pulled him down so that Cas was laying on top of him, bare chest to bare chest, groin to groin.

Every little shift sparked heat and friction, and Dean sucked on Cas's lower lip and felt Cas's tongue against his own. Cas's body was heavy, his skin felt sweat-slick when Dean stroked hands down his back, and Dean began pushing at his pants impatiently because Jesus Fuck but they needed to be naked _right now_.

Cas got the idea quickly, squirming his way out of his pants. The movement made Dean growl and grasp at Cas's sides and arms and hiss, and he jerked up into Cas's body involuntarily, seeking more pressure, badly wanting to come. He ignored the sharp pain in his shoulder when he stretched down, and the sting along his back where the bandaging Sam had stuck there was coming loose.

It was possibly the hottest thing ever when Cas started making his way down Dean's body, putting his hands and his tongue everywhere, tasting and trailing teeth over skin, and stroking at Dean's elbows and along his hips. Slowly, painfully slowly, teasing, Cas stripped away Dean's jeans and his underwear, kissing down his legs all the way to his ankles. Exploring, Dean realised. It was a relief to finally be freed from his clothes, but it was all Dean could do to grit his teeth and bear Cas's attention, and not to whine and moan and tell him to hurry up and _do something_.

The room was mostly quiet, save for Dean's breathless pants and the occasional creak of the bed, and the brutal wind and hail against the windows. It should have been freaky, Dean thought, that Cas was so damn quiet, but it was the way Cas was so much of the time he guessed he should've known he'd be like this. Intent, too. Cas was focused, exhaustive in the way he ran his hands slowly all over Dean's exposed skin until he was finally kissing his way up the inside of Dean's thigh. Dean was almost tempted to take himself in his own hands by this point and he swore, "Fuck, Cas."

He felt warm breath against his groin in reply, then the light touch of lips against his cock and Dean couldn't stop himself pushing his hips up, trying to find heat and pressure. Cas shifted up onto his elbows, holding Dean down with his palms spread around the curve of Dean's thighs, and suddenly, _gloriously_ Cas was taking Dean into his mouth.

Cas was cautious at first, tasting the head with his tongue, but he quickly grew more confident, taking a whole lot more down than Dean was capable of. And yeah, no way could Dean stop himself straining up, Cas's mouth freaking _perfect_ around him.

Cas's grip was immovable though and Dean found himself completely at Cas's mercy and holy shit that was _hot_.

It only took Cas another few seconds of hot tongue and tight lips around Dean, his thumbs brushing lines over and over Dean's skin where he held him down, before Dean was coming and coming, awesome pleasure and heat sliding along every inch of Dean's body. And Cas didn't seem to care at all. He didn't flinch back or pull away, just kept right on sucking and licking until Dean was wrung dry and his lungs were straining for air.

As soon as Dean could feel his toes again, as soon as he could remember where he was and what he was doing and could think of more than just the hotness and the awesome sluggishness in his muscles, and the fucking bliss of it, Dean pulled Cas up and kissed the life out of him.

It wasn't the first time he'd tasted himself in someone else's mouth but it was definitely the dirtiest. Angel, Dean reminded himself. _Cas_.

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas's shoulders, rolled them both so they were lying on their sides and he could stroke his hand down Cas's cheek, and along his neck and down his arm. So he could look at Cas. Really look at him.

There was a relaxed set to Cas's face that Dean couldn't ever remember seeing before and he thought, _I did that_ , and felt really damn smug.

"That was," Dean started, and found his voice rough, still breathless.

Cas brought his palm up to rest against Dean's neck, brushed fingers along the fine hairs there. Dean was starting to get the feeling Cas had a thing for his hair.

Outside, the storm still raged, angry and relentless and howling, but on that bed, in that hotel room, Dean fell asleep with Cas's lips pressed lightly against his cheek, and Cas's hands wrapped around him, and Dean felt only peace.

***

Dean woke to the sound of the door unlocking and was instantly wide-awake, hand groping under his pillow for a knife that wasn't there.

"Shit," he swore, and cursed himself for getting lax. It wasn't like him.

Whoever was trying to get in was taking a damn long time about it, but Dean still didn't think there was time to make it to the duffel bag, filled with handy things like salt and ammunition and Dean's damn knife. Under the covers, Dean was still naked and kind of sticky and gross and definitely not up for company. Feeling the grittiness, the pull in his shoulder, it hit Dean exactly why he'd forgotten.

Neither of the other beds had been slept in, and Dean suddenly had a sinking feeling he knew exactly who was at the door.

The bed beside him was empty and cold, and Dean looked over to see Cas standing beside one of the windows with his hands loose at his sides. Seeing Dean awake, Cas turned, stared back at Dean, looking as unruffled as ever. He was dressed, his coat and jacket and tie in place like he'd never taken them off. Like Dean had never taken them off for him. He didn't seem at all concerned by the clinking and rattling coming from the door's lock, so it could only be Sam.

Which made it not at all better.

There was a dull kind of light coming in through the windows where Castiel had pulled back the curtain a little way to watch the streets below. Or at least, that's what Dean presumed Cas had been doing. Dean frowned, because the light meant Sam had been out all night, and that never went well.

And fuck but Dean smelled of sex and there was no time to even cover himself up any more before the door was opening and Sam was coming into the room looking slightly confused and a lot mussed. Sex mussed, Dean realised, his clothes looking rumpled, like they'd been hurriedly thrown on.

He wasn't suspicious, he told himself. He trusted Sam. Sam was big and ugly enough to go out and get laid if he wanted to. It had nothing to do with Dean.

"Hey," Sam greeted Dean. He sounded like he couldn't quite remember how he'd ended up there. Dean might've been suspicious Sam had gone out and gotten drunk, what with all the trouble he'd had with the lock, but he didn't look hungover.

Castiel nodded, "Good morning, Sam."

Sam's nod in reply looked half-confused, half-guilty and Dean couldn't stop himself demanding, "Where the hell have you been?"

He didn't miss Sam's flinch, but his brother stepped fully into the room and closed the door firmly behind himself.

"I... got sidetracked," he said.

"Sidetracked," Dean repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Sam nodded absently.

"Who did you get sidetracked with?" Dean asked warily, and Sam grimaced.

"It wasn't a demon or anything, Dean," Sam shot back defensively. He stormed noisily to his bag which still sat at the edge of his untouched bed and started rummaging through it. Dean could see his knife and handgun get moved aside, and was just glad Sam was in too much of a snit to notice.

Looking towards the window, Dean met Cas's eyes, fairly sure that Cas would be able to tell if Sam had gone and done something stupid. He was relieved when Cas shook his head.

"I can tell you're having some freaky silent conversation about me, you know," Sam huffed, pulling clothes out of his duffel. He looked up suddenly, scowling at Dean. Maybe not too pissed to notice something weird was going on after all.

Shit.

Dean saw the moment Sam noticed he was naked, his lips thinning and his face going all scowly. Then Sam turned to look at Cas, and for a few long seconds all Dean could see was the back of Sam's head. Cas didn't move or say anything. When Sam finally turned back he was glaring, and Dean really really tried to keep his expression blank. He had no clue what conclusions Sam had come to, but from the way his brother was looking at him- somewhere between angry and confused and shocked- Dean had a suspicion he'd guessed right.

Whatever Sam saw, he put his hands up in defeat. "I don't want to know," he said, and gathered his things up into his arms before slamming his way into the bathroom. It was like having teenaged Sam back all over again.

The shower turned on, and Cas kept right on staring at Dean and Dean had not a freaking clue what to do.

God, he hated the awkward morning after. The worst thing was that it wasn't really so much awkward as it was confusing. Cas staring was nothing new, but now Dean knew what Cas sounded like when he came; all heavy, panting breath and grasping hands. He knew that Cas liked it when Dean sucked on his neck, and stroked down his back. He knew the way Castiel's lips felt around his dick. These were not the kind of things you were supposed to find out about your friends.

And yet, Dean couldn't bring himself to regret a single second of it. And holy crap he was going right back to hell but he wanted to do it again.

What had he even been thinking last night anyway? Sam could have come back at any minute. They were on a case. Cas was a _freaking angel_ , and if there was one thing Dean didn't want- would do pretty much anything to avoid- it was to drag Cas back down. To make him fall again. Because Dean knew exactly how badly that could go.

"I don't regret it," Cas said then into the weird silence. Bastard angel had been reading Dean's mind again, Dean was sure, and the worst thing was that Dean was actually glad for it.

It was the easiest thing to say, "Me either."

Cas nodded once, like that solved everything, and maybe it did because then Cas gave Dean one of his half-smile things and tilted his head forward. Dean had no idea what that meant, but he hoped it was going to lead to more awesome blowjobs in the near future.

"You could've cleaned me up, too," Dean complained, teasing, looking down at the mess of sheets around his waist. He could smell sex and sweat and yeah, no way Sam could ever've missed that.

From his perch by the window Cas tipped his head which was about the closest he ever got to a shrug and told Dean solemnly, "I didn't want to wake you."

Which Dean was pretty sure was a lie, so Dean huffed a laugh and it was so easy. "C'mere," Dean said, holding out his hand, and Cas stepped around the beds and came to Dean, taking the outstretched hand and letting Dean pull him down and close until he was bent over, balancing with one hand on the mattress beside Dean. There, Dean could reach his lips, so he kissed Cas slow and soft, like he hadn't really done the night before.

From the bathroom, Dean heard the shower shutting off and realised he'd forgotten Sam was there. _Again_. Dean would have worried he was losing his mind or something, but Cas was close and staring at Dean with that look of his that somehow managed to be blank and soft and inviting all at the same time.

Dean would like to have stayed like that, just looking and kissing and learning each other without the crazy, heady lust of before. To not have to go anywhere, do anything but this. But there was Sam, and Sam had been gone a whole night.

And somehow he'd come back from hell.

"When you called," Dean said, his voice low. Sam was crashing around in the bathroom and they didn't have long. "I thought you were coming for Sam."

It was hard to say, his throat was dry, felt constricted. But it was kind of a relief, a weight off Dean's shoulders after weeks of worry and doubt. He didn't want to doubt.

Cas seemed to get it because he sighed and sat down beside Dean. It was space between them that Dean could have done without, but they needed to have this conversation. _He_ needed to have this conversation. Still, Cas was close enough that Dean could feel his warmth and hear his trench coat shift and slide as he settled himself. He didn't pull his hand away from Dean's loose grip.

"I told you I've watched you," Cas said. "I wouldn't have allowed a Sam that was not Sam to deceive you. I don't believe anything could have deceived you that way."

Which was about the sweetest thing Cas had ever said to Dean.

"I know it's Sam," Dean said firmly. "I just need to know if he's..."

Human. Not crazy. Lying to me. Dean really wasn't sure what.

"The same?" Cas suggested.

Dean nodded.

"He is as he was before he fell to hell," Cas said. "He has the same taint of demon blood. Lucifer is not within him. If he is lying to you or not I couldn't say. You don't like it when I read your minds."

Dean scoffed. "You usually do it anyway."

"No, I don't."

And fuck it all but Dean believed him.


	4. Chapter 4

The storm of the previous night had turned into a foul, icy rain that froze Dean to the core and made him want to get right back into bed and never leave. They had work to do though, and Dean had no intention of staying in this fucked up town one second longer than he had to.

Where the town had been creepily neat and clean and perfect the day before, the rain and the storm had caused havoc, knocking down trees and signposts and power lines. The roads ran heavy with rainwater, the drains overflowing and spilling foul-smelling water out on to the streets. What the day before had been perfectly kept gardens and parks had become little more than great patches of mud, churned up and sopping wet.

The sky was dark with grey clouds and Dean couldn't see the rain letting up any time soon. The townsfolk seemed to know it too, judging by the way they walked hunched in on themselves, trying to keep out the cold and the wet. No one greeted them on the street as the three of them trekked around the debris left behind by the storm of the night before, waded through puddles and streets turned into rivers, headed toward the local library.

It was weird, but Dean didn't remember the storm sounding so fierce that it could've done this much damage in just a few hours. Then again, he'd been kind of preoccupied.

Sam was giving Dean and Cas the silent treatment, tense and irritated like they'd had crazy bondage sex in front of him or something.

"You lost the laptop," Dean pointed out, because Sam had absolutely no right to be pissed about Dean's choice in who he slept with. Dean knew he could have done a whole lot worse. _Had_ done a whole lot worse. Sam certainly had.

Also, Sam had _lost the freaking computer_.

"It was an accident," Sam replied testily. "I put it down somewhere." He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe someone stole it."

"You don't remember where you left it?" Dean looked at Cas, who was walking on the other side of him, then back to Sam. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean demanded, because that kind of forgetfulness wasn't like Sam at all.

"I don't know, okay? I just... wasn't thinking. Last night's kind of a blur, and I didn't even drink. I don't know why. Maybe something weird was going on last night."

Sam looked between Cas and Dean pointedly.

Of all people, Dean had expected Sam to _get_ this thing between him and Cas, whatever it was. He hadn't expected his brother to fucking bitch about it, and suggest there was something twisted and supernatural about it. "Oh, hell no, Sam. You did not just say that."

"I didn't say anything," Sam argued.

"You know what I mean." Dean's fingers curled into fists angrily.

"No," Sam shook his head. "I didn't mean it in a bad way," he said. "I just... don't you think it's kind of sudden?"

A couple of years fighting the apocalypse. All that self-sacrifice and anger and nothing to show for it. And then a few months of not knowing if he was ever going to see Cas again. No, Dean really didn't think it was sudden.

Then Cas said, thoughtfully, "I had considered this also," and Dean felt fucking _betrayed_. An hour ago they'd been kissing the life out of each other and Dean was pretty damn sure, from the way Cas pushed himself closer to Dean and dug his fingers into Dean's back, that Cas had wanted more than just kissing.

"The hell?" Dean demanded.

Cas turned to him. "I meant what I said," he told Dean. "I don't regret it, but I don't understand this place, and everything here feels wrong to me, Dean. It's unlike me to become so... diverted."

It wasn't like Dean hadn't considered how damn inappropriate it was to get their groove on while on a case, in a town that was definitely not at all natural and filled with who the fuck knew what supernatural crap, but Dean still couldn't help but feel _insulted_. "Diverted," he repeated. "Awesome. I'm a diversion now."

"Don't be absurd," Cas snapped in reply.

Sam fidgeted uncomfortably next to him. "I know you two are-"

And Dean really didn't want to know where he was going with that so he cut his brother off with a loud, dismissive, "Whatever," and then, "Enough with the drama. We're nearly at the library. Let's concentrate on the case."

They weren't that close, but they walked the last few blocks in silence and Dean was glad for it. Dean wasn't going to dwell on this thing with Cas. What Sam had said. What _Cas_ had said. They didn't have time for this shit, no matter how much Dean might want it, and want more, and kind of want it now. It wasn't like it was unusual for Dean to want sex, but this felt different. Like maybe it actually meant something in a way he'd only felt a couple of times before in his life.

It would be easy to say it was just about the mutual pleasure. For the fun of it. But even Dean wasn't so dense to not realise there was no way it could ever be like that with Cas, and not just because Cas was an angel.

Before anything, Cas was Dean's friend. That was one thing Dean didn't want to mess up.

Dean could've worried about it all day if he let himself, but they had more important things to worry about, like missing people and crazy diner guys and AWOL angels.

Dean could see the library ahead of them as they crossed the street, unable to avoid the water flooding it, overflowing from drains, lapping over the edge of the sidewalk. Dean could feel the cold wetness seeping into his socks. There was water running down his back, down his face, dripping from his hair. It was a really fucking miserable day and Dean pulled his jacket tighter around himself, picking up the pace. Cas and Sam trailed behind and Dean could feel Cas's eyes on him. Just for once Dean would've liked to be the one who could read minds.

The library was pretty much like any other small-town public library. It was housed in an older building, well kept, but mostly empty of people. That suited them best.

There was no heating that Dean could feel when they stepped through the doors, but it was dry at least and Dean shrugged off his soaked jacket and brushed the water out of his hair with one hand. Sam did the same, his hair dripping onto his shoulders and the floor. Dean shook out his legs, feeling the uncomfortable wet denim chafing against his skin.

Even Cas looked damp.

They'd only been inside for maybe a couple minutes when a tall, grey-haired lady who Dean guessed was the librarian came over to them demanding, "What do you want?"

Which was about the least friendly welcome to a library Dean had ever received.

"To look at the books?" Dean ventured, wondering if it was a trick question.

"What for?" the librarian questioned. She was giving the three of them looks like she thought they'd come to burn the place down.

"To do research," Sam explained smoothly, stepping in front of Dean. "We won't take long," he promised. He guided the woman away, glancing back at Dean meaningfully. The last thing he heard Sam ask, politely, before his brother and the librarian turned a corner around the closest stack was, "Do you have the internet here? I mean, you have it right? Here? Somewhere? I can use it? Right?"

Freak.

Just him and Cas then. Wonderful.

***

Three hours and a hundred useless local records and newspaper back issues later and they hadn't found anything that might even hint at what the hell was going on in the town of Spring Green, Wisconsin. Or, really, anything interesting at all.

There were no recorded murders or suicides or, in fact, anything like crime or weird occurrences at all. That, in itself, made Dean suspect this town really didn't actually exist.

"We are wasting our time," Cas declared, setting a large tome down on the table that was something like a land registry. "There will be nothing here. None of this is _real_."

"It's all we have to go on," Dean shrugged. Cas could be a pissy bitch all he wanted but it wasn't going to change the fact that he had yet to come up with a better idea of how to explain anything that was going on in the town. "I don't get how all this stuff can exist if, you know, nothing here actually does."

Cas looked thoughtful for a moment, taking in the shelves and the table and the books and papers they had strewn all over it. "I suspect the people of this time brought this with them. Not physically, but in their memories."

"You know that makes no sense, right?"

"It does," Cas insisted, but didn't explain any further.

Cas stared at Dean from across the table looking a whole lot like he was considering something. There was a heat in his eyes Dean recognised from the night before. It was want, and maybe need, and seeing it now Dean thought how- before yesterday- he'd never seen anything like it from Cas. Everything had happened so fast, had been so immediate and tense. Dean hadn't even thought about consequences, or later, or anything at all beyond wanting more of Cas than maybe Cas could give. It was selfish and greedy, and seeing Cas look back at him, Dean wanted it all over again.

There was no way this thing between them didn't exist.

Dean watched as Cas pushed his chair back and stood up, slowly coming around the table and laying a hand on Dean's shoulder. There was no reason for it, and he made no move to do anything else, just let his hand rest on Dean and stood there. Cas sighed in something like relief.

At first Dean had thought the touching thing that Cas had been doing all morning was some kind of apology for being a dick earlier. Just light brushes against his back, or his hand when Cas passed a book, or Cas standing so close their arms touched when they raided the shelves. The getting up in Dean's space wasn't exactly unusual, but Dean was beginning to suspect there was more to it than that. It was almost like Cas _needed_ the touch, flinching when Dean pulled away.

It drove Dean mad because there was no way he could deny that he still wanted Cas, and the more Cas touched him the more Dean wanted to take. He wanted to shove Cas against the nearest bookshelf and _take_. Dean couldn't stop watching Cas, how he moved, how he leaned his arms against the table, the shape of his mouth and the colour of his hair and Dean couldn't help but think that, yeah, something was definitely not right with that. This single-minded obsessiveness was getting creepy, or would be if Cas seemed to care at all.

Cas still had his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Cas," Dean said, keeping his tone light. "You can't keep your hands off me or something?"

Almost absently, Cas was rubbing his fingers over the material of Dean's shirt, still damp and heavy from the rain. The warmth of Cas's hand was a welcome change to the way Dean's skin rubbed uncomfortably against the wet fabric. It was weird, but somehow just having Cas closer, touching him, made everything seem not so bad. The biting cold, the rain, the dull ache in his back from where the hell-creature thing had clawed him, everything that was wrong with this town, all of it seemed less important.

Dean twisted in his chair to look up at Cas, wanting to see him. Wanting to know what Cas was thinking. If this was okay, what they were doing. If it mattered that it was maybe sudden and maybe not entirely them.

Cas looked back steadily, almost curiously, and after a long moment he replied, "It seems I can't."

He frowned, and Dean could think of several things he could do to take that look off Cas's face.

"I don't understand it," Cas told him.

"I want to... you know. With you. Right here," Dean found himself admitting.

There was another long silence. Cas didn't react at all to the admission, like it was perfectly natural, and Dean wished he could tell what Cas was looking for when he stared and when he stayed close, and when he kept his hand on Dean's shoulder.

Dean could hear the muffled sounds of someone talking on a phone, the clinking old pipes. Heating maybe, that wasn't heating anything. He heard the shift of Cas's coat as his hand moved to the back of Dean's neck, heard his chair creak as he leaned back, into the touch. Dean could feel heat down his back, spreading out from where Cas's fingers spread across his skin, all the way down his arms.

"We should find Sam," Cas said.

Dean nodded, "Yeah," because who knew what kind of trouble Sam was getting into with that bitch librarian?

Dean was _not_ thinking about all the kinds of trouble he could get into with Cas.

He stood up, Cas's hand slipping down his back but not breaking contact, and when Dean turned around to face him Cas was right there. He didn't move back. Dean didn't think he was even breathing. He just watched Dean with cautious eyes, unafraid, focused, _Cas_ , and Dean couldn't stop himself. Didn't _want_ to stop himself. All his life he'd been running away from crap, not letting himself want too much in case it was taken away, thinking it would interfere with Dad or Sam or whatever thing they were fighting that week. Fuck it. Just the once Dean wanted to be selfish and greedy and to take and to enjoy what Cas was offering. So he leaned forward into Cas's lips, closing what little space was left between them. It was Cas's fault, he told himself. The angel hadn't moved out of his way. He must have known Dean wouldn't be able to not reach out and touch and kiss with Cas looking at him like that.

Last night had been so damn good, and Dean wanted it all over again. Right now.

Cas kissed him back, wet and dirty, like he wanted that too. It was so damn hot, because Dean knew what Cas could do with that tongue now. With that mouth. With his body.

Dean grabbed Cas by the arms, pushing him back and back until he hit something. One of the library's tall, old bookcases, Dean saw, paperbacks lining its shelves and oh yeah. He'd forgotten where they were. Dean could smell the books. Ink. Paper. He wondered if Cas liked that. He seemed like the type.

It certainly wasn't like Cas was complaining. He put his hands on Dean's back, fingers spread wide, breathing hot and fast against Dean's neck when he got his hands under Cas's coat and his jacket, putting his hands on Cas's waist where his shirt met his pants. He kissed down the line of Cas's throat, feeling stubble rough under his lips. Dean could taste the sweat and the rain against Cas's skin, could feel how Cas pushed his hips into Dean's hands and pressed fingers tightly into the muscles of Dean's arms.

It was too bright, and it was too exposed, but there was no way Dean was going to stop now, so he pushed Cas along the line of the bookshelves, moving into the aisles, away from where anyone might see them. There were no windows, and the aisles got narrower the further back Dean pushed, more enclosed, and intimate and Dean kept pushing until they were right at the end of the stack where shelving met wall.

"We should stop," Cas panted, warm against Dean's ear. Then Cas had his mouth, his teeth, against the soft flesh and Dean sucked in a breath, agreeing, "Yeah," and knew that neither of them were going to.

Cas's hands were dry, firm against Dean's skin as he got under his shirt, sliding up his chest, not once taking his mouth off of Dean's ear. Fingers dipped slowly lower and lower, rubbing lines across Dean's torso, across his waist, across his hips. It was like all Cas wanted was to touch and watch as it drove Dean crazy, made him squirm against Cas's body.

At the first press of Cas's hand against Dean's dick, even through the heavy fabric of his jeans, Dean was helpless to stop himself jerking his hips forward, pushing himself more firmly against those long fingers. Letting Cas know he wanted it. How could he fucking _not_?

He breathed, "Cas," and reached around, grabbing at Cas's ass to pull their hips together, Cas's hand trapped between them, wanting them to be naked, right now. Wanting Cas's hands on his skin rather than just rubbing at him through his pants. Cas was hard too, Dean could feel it against his thigh and it just made it all the better, made Dean push just a bit harder, and grapple at Cas's shirt, trying to pull it out of his pants so he could get to flesh.

His jeans were still damp and tight and kind of chafing but Dean didn't care, only wanting to come, for Cas to come, so they could do this all over again. So he could get Cas naked and _really_ fuck him.

There was something he'd forgotten, Dean thought. Something he was supposed to be doing, or not supposed to be doing, but he couldn't concentrate with Cas all over him, pushing against him, somehow managing to jerk him off. Too slow. Too fucking slow.

"Come on," Dean urged. "Faster."

Cas replied with a growl, spreading his fingers and changing his grip, shoving his fist lower and Dean hissed and encouraged, "Yeah," and "Fuck," and pawed at the buttons of Cas's slacks, wondering if he was really, actually going to come in his freaking pants.

Dean was so _ready_ to come.

He licked at wherever he could reach; Cas's mouth and his chin and the space below his ear. Cas responded with quicker movements, his other hand kneading Dean's ass, scratching blunt nails down his thigh. Tilting his head back, thrusting his hips forward, and it was so much friction, so much Cas, that Dean could feel his cock and his stomach and his muscles tightening, his skin heated.

Dean was just getting past Cas's underwear, and it would've only taken another minute, a few more shoves, but at that moment there was a loud yell of, "Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Dean."

Cas's hand stilled immediately, and Dean would really like to have killed him for that, but there was no one else in the universe with a voice like that, and there was nothing to kill your libido quite like being caught with your hands down another man's pants by your little brother.

"I'm gonna be scarred for life." Sam's voice was higher-pitched than was normal, like he was shocked or something. But seriously, it wasn't the worst thing Sam had ever caught Dean doing.

Still, no one could call Dean a prude, but even he shied away from actually having sex in front of his brother, and Cas seemed to feel the same because he withdrew his hands from Dean's jeans. He stayed close though, his hand pressing instead against Dean's arm.

Quietly, privately, he said, "Dean," and it was like someone had poured cold water over his head.

Dean remembered where they were, and how there was something hinky going on and how he wasn't supposed to be trying to fuck Cas. How they were in a public library. On a case.

The thought that this hadn't been real, that he and Cas had somehow been mind-fucked into doing this- _again_ \- would have made Dean's skin crawl, except that Cas's hand was solid and sure against him, familiar. Cas didn't look freaked out at all, just maybe kind of angry and frustrated. Even if the sex wasn't real, Dean thought, the trust and the sort-of affection at least was, so Dean didn't bother to move away, just stayed pressed up close to Cas. It was cold, he told himself. He could feel the chill of the unheated library, made worse by his damp clothes. It was easier to concentrate on that than the fact that he was still half-hard.

"I didn't just see that," Sam was telling himself. "I saw nothing."

His brother was standing at the other end of the stack with his head in his hands. There were printouts clutched in one hand, hiding his face.

Dean was going to tell Sam to stop whining, that it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before -even though it kind of was- when the librarian bitch who'd greeted them earlier appeared beside Sam demanding, "What is all this noise?"

She took one look at Dean and Cas, pressed together in the corner between the wall and the stack, and her face twisted into a furious scowl.

"This is a..." she spat. "There are..." and it was like she was so angry she couldn't even get out the words because then she was shouting at them, "Get out! Get out! " and "I'll call the police on you!"

That was about the last kind of trouble they needed, so they let her shove them around, waving her arms and threatening and calling them perverts and animals until the three of them were standing back outside on the steps of the library in the pouring rain.


	5. Chapter 5

It could only have been early afternoon, but the sky was so heavy with dark, grey clouds it felt a lot like evening. A really shitty, miserable evening. Even Cas looked cold, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his coat and pulling it more tightly around his legs. Standing next to him, Dean felt Cas shiver.

"You got us thrown out," Sam groused. He shoved the printouts into his pocket before pulling the collar of his jacket up and wrapping his arms around himself. Without another word, Sam started off down the steps, not waiting to see if Dean or Cas followed. He looked pissed.

"Your yelling got us thrown out," Dean called after him testily.

Something had gotten to him. Something had gotten into them all. Dean could taste it in the air, feel it in the suffocating cold of the rain. Dean could smell sulphur, he thought, and had no idea if it was real or it was just his imagination. How could he tell if any of this was real? He felt fucking trapped.

Dean followed after Sam, down the steps and away from the library building, even if he had no clue where to go from here. What else was he going to do? He wasn't surprised when Cas followed closely behind, not touching now and Dean felt the absence like loss. Craved it back, no matter how fucked up it felt. It was impossible to separate the part of Dean that was Cas's friend, that respected Cas for all the crap he'd done for them, for him, from that side of Dean that felt forced, felt the desperate need to get all up on Cas's body. To kiss him, and get his hands on Cas. Dean shoved it away, reminding himself this wasn't them. This wasn't something Cas would want.

Dean wondered what Cas was thinking. His face was blank, but Dean could see the tension in his shoulders and his arms. There were ways, Dean thought, he could do something about that. Ways Dean could smooth away the concern and the worry he could see in the way Cas held himself still. He was staring, he realised. He was letting himself get caught up again in that lust and want, and Dean had to look away.

Sam bitched, "What's going on with you two?" He'd stopped at the bottom of the steps, apparently over his tantrum. Sam turned pointedly towards Dean. "Even you're not this horny."

Dean wasn't sure if that was supposed to be an insult or not, but his brother did kind of have a point.

"So maybe you were right about something weird going on here," Dean admitted.

They were standing in the middle of the sidewalk outside the Spring Green town library in the pouring rain arguing, or having a discussion, or whatever the hell they were doing, and that, Dean guessed, was nothing particularly unusual. He hadn't completely lost it.

"I don't know what's going on here. I don't know how we're going to solve this, but we sure as hell aren't going to do it standing on a street corner," Dean said.

Sam huffed, half in annoyance and half in amusement. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah." He looked up and down the street, trying to hunch his shoulders and tug his collar higher. "Come on," he said, and then Sam was walking again, his pace fast. Hoping to get out of the rain, Dean guessed, and he couldn't have agreed more.

"Cas," Sam called back to them, trusting that they'd follow. "The angels you talked about, could they do this?"

They turned sharply up a side street. Sam seemed to know where he was going, which was weird considering they'd only been in the town less than twenty-four hours. Dean wouldn't put it past Sam to have spent a couple of hours studying the town maps when they'd been in the library though.

Cas was frowning deeply when he replied, "It is possible to influence... humans. But I do not see how I could come to be influenced by them. They are not powerful enough. Nor do I see any reason for all this." Cas waved a hand at the street ahead of them. "There is no point to this, that I can see." He sounded frustrated, annoyed. Dean could sympathise.

"What did you find?" Dean asked Sam, remembering the sheets of paper he'd been holding on to since he'd found them in the stacks, seeing that Sam was thinking, forming ideas and maybe working something out.

"Records." Sam pulled the printouts from his jacket pocket, holding them out to Dean. "The town census. It goes back seventy-three years. That's all."

Dean looked at the papers. They were soggy and rumpled, listing names, addresses, dates of birth. "Nothing older?"

"Nothing," Sam shook his head. "And by nothing, I mean nothing. There're no records at all before seventy-three years ago. No births, deaths, construction, contracts, nothing. It's like there was nothing here seventy-three years ago."

"There was nothing here three weeks ago," Cas pointed out.

"Yeah, but the people of this town don't know that."

Dean handed the pages back. It wasn't much, but it was pretty much all they had to go on. It was _something_. "Seventy-three years is very specific," Dean commented, and Sam smiled.

"I thought that too. It's the age of the oldest guy in Spring Green."

That, Dean thought, was definitely something.

"They're creating this town," Castiel said, certain.

"Is this one of those group-mind-think things again?" It didn't seem likely, and didn't explain the effect the place was having on him and Cas. Every other person in the town had probably been affected too, but Dean'd been too selfishly preoccupied and distracted to notice.

Cas nodded though, "In a way."

It was a shame the town hadn't managed to make Cas less vague, Dean thought.

"You remember what that guy yesterday said?" Sam led them around another corner, passing a row of empty shops. They had hardly seen anyone out on the streets, Dean noticed. True, it was raining hard and not exactly the best day to be out for a stroll but as far as Dean knew it was still a weekday and people should have been out to work, going to school, or going to the grocery. There were a couple of cars that had sped past- way beyond the speed limit- but other than that no traffic at all either. The roads weren't flooded so bad yet that they'd be hard to navigate.

Dean saw movement inside the houses they passed. He was pretty sure he could feel eyes on him, watching, and he was fairly sure it wasn't just paranoia.

"I remember," Dean said. Kind of hard not to.

"He accused Cas of bringing them here. What if he was telling the truth. That it was the angels who brought all these people here, and he recognised Cas as an angel?" Sam suggested.

"He shouldn't be able to tell," Castiel disagreed. "To any human I look like a human."

"To all humans?" Sam asked.

"Yes," Cas said. "Unless we choose to... be recognised."

"Like showing off your wing span," Dean snorted, and Cas scowled at him.

"It's one way."

Sam looked between Dean and Cas witheringly, but didn't comment. "Anyway, this place is affecting people and we don't know why or how," Sam continued. He sounded confident in his theory, even though Cas was looking doubtful. "I know you guys have been... preoccupied, but all the people I've talked to here are- I don't know- not _right_. Like how this town isn't right. I had three people in that library try to get into my pants. They weren't in there to read. And that librarian looked liked she wanted to scratch my eyes out every time I even _touched_ one of the books."

"Where were you last night? Really?" Dean asked, thinking about weird behaviour and the night before and Sam's glaring absence.

Sam's face screwed up into something unhappy, but he replied, "With the receptionist."

Somehow, Dean had managed to suspect it, even if it did mean thinking about Sam having sex with that prudish bitch, but it still made Dean pause.

It was raining and it was cold, they were trapped in a town that didn't exist and they'd all turned into sex-crazed idiots.

"Okay," was just about all Dean could reply to that. At least Sam had admitted it. "I get why you think me and Cas are-"

What? Fucking each other out of some supernatural-induced lust? Wrong together? Because even if possibly Dean'd never thought about sleeping with Cas before, he does like the guy, and mostly trusts him. And yeah, his disappearance after Lucifer and Michael fell to hell had felt a whole lot like betrayal. Like being dumped.

The worst of it was that Dean knew he couldn't trust what he was thinking, or what he was feeling. Not here. "Yeah," Dean said. "Anyway. Where are we headed?"

"The police station," Sam replied. "We should talk to that crazy guy."

It was as good a plan as any, Dean guessed, even if he wasn't convinced he'd be able to tell them any more than they already knew. It might, though, be interesting to see how he reacted to Cas again.

They turned up another road, this one wider, lined with stores and signs and parked cars. Maybe the town's main street. All the shops looked closed, but as they passed one large window that looked like some kind of cheesy craft shop, Dean could see a couple pressed right up against the glass, very obviously getting it on.

"Not just us then," Dean commented. Cas was still close, and it made his fingers itch to touch, so Dean noticed immediately when Cas stopped walking. Dean meant to ask what was wrong, why he'd stopped, but when he turned Dean could see Cas watching the couple, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

There were hands everywhere, shoved into clothing. They were making out like it was the end of the world.

"Voyeurism, Cas?" Dean teased, but it was more out of nervousness than anything. Cas looked deadly serious.

"There is more than just lust," he said. Cas watched, his eyes following their movements, a mouth on a neck, a hand gripping at ass, bare skin pressed up against the glass of the window and Dean gritted his teeth, irritatingly, freaking _perversely_ turned on. "There is possessiveness, jealousy, greed, selfishness."

Cas looked down at his own hands before turning his head to stare right back at Dean.

It was easy to forget all the shit around them, and all the doubt and the rain and the cold when Cas turned those eyes on him. His face was blank, but Dean had been watching Cas ever since they'd met and he could see concern, fear, and _want_ there. Restrained, but still there.

Unless, Dean thought, he was just projecting his own mess of feeling onto Cas.

Dean really wished he could know exactly what was going on in that angel-brain of Cas's. What Cas had thought of Dean _before_ Spring Green and all its fucked-up-ness.

"C'mon guys," Sam interrupted from further up the street. The shop beside him had its windows smashed in. It'd been ransacked. "We should get going."

Dean forced himself to look away from Cas, to his brother and the empty street ahead of them, knowing that the angel was still staring, and said, "Yeah."

***

Dean was soaked to the skin, tired, and frustrated as hell by the time they made it to the police station. Even Cas was beginning to look kind of frayed around the edges.

He took the steps up to the building two at a time, and Dean could almost ignore the fact that this was a _police station_ -just about the last place a Winchester should be- for the prospect of being someplace dry.

As soon as he pushed through the doors Dean knew something was wrong.

The smell of blood and decay hit him full in the face, strong and familiar. Not the kind of thing you usually get from a police station. It was the smell of a monster's lair or a vampire's home, or maybe Hell on a good day. Dean put his arm to his mouth, feeling nauseous and hating the memories that came with the smell. Beside him, Cas tensed up, looking dead ahead, past the empty, deserted front desks strewn with paper and overturned computers and pencil holders. Cas was staring with narrowed, furious eyes towards a door in the back wall.

There was no blood that Dean could see, but knocked over chairs lay abandoned, desks and tables pushed aside on the path towards the door. The floor was a mess, covered in dirty, still-wet boot prints. There'd definitely been a struggle, and recently.

The silence was ominous, putting Dean on edge.

The lights were off, but not smashed, and the only light coming into the room was dull, filtering in from the tall windows along the sidewalls.

Dean's first instinct was to stay quiet, hope that whatever was behind that back door hadn't heard them come in, and carefully, Dean drew out the knife. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam pull out the Colt from the back of his jeans.

They hadn't taken a single step forward when Cas said, "There are five demons. They know we're here. I suspect they were awaiting our arrival."

So much for surprise.

"D'you know what's going on back there?" Sam asked cautiously, like he really didn't want to know. Dean was pretty sure whatever it was, it wasn't going to be friendly.

"I believe the man from yesterday is dead," was all Cas said in reply.

"We kill them then," Dean resolved.

"They might be able to tell us something," Sam argued.

"They won't, unless they are required to." With that, Castiel started towards the door, slow but confident. Cas looked around, taking in the walls and the floor and the furniture like he was looking for something. Sigils, Dean guessed, and followed, Sam at his back.

Where the hell the officers, or the staff, or _anyone_ was, Dean had no idea but from the stench- growing and growing and making Dean want to retch more with every step- there had to be a whole lot more than one body nearby.

Dean thought of the missing people, all those pictures he'd seen stuck to window-fronts and street signs, and really hoped they hadn't just discovered where they'd all been ending up.

Cas paused at the half-open door, examining it, but keeping his distance. It was dark on the other side and there were scratches around the frame at about shoulder height, in rows of four, and Dean tried not to think about how they could only have been made by fingernails, clawing and desperate.

This close, the stench made Dean gag, and Sam beside him too. Cas didn't even blink, making Dean wonder if he could smell it at all. Dean could smell sulphur too.

Cas put a hand on the frame, frowning and withdrawing his hand slowly.

"Demon magic," he pretty much _snarled_ , and without looking back or giving any warning, pushed open the door and walked right in.

Dean was going to kill the angelic idiot when they got out of here for being so damn reckless. Neither he nor Sam could even see much beyond the doorway.

Dean called, "Cas, wait up."

A second later there was a loud hiss and flash of light revealing a hallway lined with bodies ripped to shreds, walls red with blood, and Cas with a palm pressed against the head of a guy wearing a cop's uniform and snarling and writhing under Cas's touch. The light was gone in an instant with a howl and a fresh burst of hot sulphur.

"Cas, you freaking idiot," Dean shouted, taking a couple steps into the hallway and calling back to Sam, "Find the damn light switch. They already know we're coming."

Dean heard Cas's voice further down the hallway, moving away from him. "As I said, they have been waiting."

"Then they can damn well wait until we've found the lights," Dean shot back.

It wasn't like Cas to be this impulsive and _wrathful_. Unless somehow in the last few months Cas the Commander of Heaven had become some battle-hungry maniac. What would he know anyway?

There was a dull thud to his left where Sam was, then his brother swore, "Jesus Christ," in a disgusted, half-panicked tone that made Dean think Sam had probably just tripped on a corpse. In that brief flash of brightness before the hallway had reverted to darkness, Dean had counted maybe seven or eight bodies. He hoped there weren't more to be found, but from the smell of it, he deeply suspected there were.

"Cas," Dean called again, putting all of his annoyance and frustration into his voice. Cas's feet made absolutely no sound, but it seemed to work because Cas replied, testily, "I'm waiting."

Dean'd thought that maybe lighting the hallway would make it seem not quite so bad. That it'd somehow mitigate the horror of painted red walls and bodies not all in one piece but as soon as he could see, and see properly, Dean couldn't stop noticing the details. Teeth. A leg. Torn clothes.

They all were cops, Dean thought. Had been anyway. And they'd been dead a while.

At the end of the hallway Cas was standing looking back at them. About a foot in front of him the body of what had once been a demon, and before that a uniformed cop, lay at his feet. Exorcised. At least not ripped to shreds, and Dean kind of hated himself for being thankful for small mercies.

Sam swore again, and Dean agreed wholeheartedly.

He tried concentrating on the hallway itself, on the shape of its walls rather than the handprints and long splashes of blood decorating them. The doors off the hallway were all closed and locked when Dean tried the handle.

The door at the end of the hallway was half-open again, inviting maybe. Demons were sick fuckers like that.

"A minor demon," Cas said. He didn't seem to care that he had his back to the door. "I don't think the others are quite so weak. There are more," he warned.

"This screams 'trap'." Sam grimaced, keeping his eyes on Cas. Trying to avoid looking at the body parts and trying to breathe through his mouth, and Cas was definitely something safer to look at. Something much _better_ to look at, and Dean was disgusted at himself because he was in a room full of butchered corpses and he was still getting hot over Cas.

Cas replied, "Most likely."

His eyes took in the floor and the walls and the ceiling around them, dark and serious and _angry_. It was, Dean thought, the first time he had ever seen Cas look so old, liked he'd seen this a thousand thousand times, and he was _sick_ of it.

"I won't suffer them to live," he said, a finality to his tone that sent a chill up Dean's spine.

Beside him Sam nodded once, squared his shoulders and began to walk towards Cas. This was what they did. Stopping the bad things from hurting people and sending evil back to where it belonged.

Dean followed, keeping an eye on the closed doors, on the way they'd come. He imagined Cas would have been more careful if there was anything lurking, but it never hurt to be cautious. It kept his mind off the state of the room too. He could look past all the carnage, instead watching for movement and listening for sound and keeping the knife up and ready.

Dean reached Cas and Sam just as Cas pushed open the door.

He could actually see in the room on the other side of the door. There were windows high in the whitewashed wall, letting in dull light. Dean could hear the heavy rain outside.

There were a couple of desks lined up along one wall with dead cops behind them, still in their seats, like they'd been taken by surprise. Murdered as they worked.

Cas ignored the room, strolling straight through it towards the next door. This one was closed. Cas put one hand on the handle and raised the other to push against the surface.

Without turning towards them, Castiel warned, "They are behind this door. Be ready," and that was all they got before he was pushing forward, taking the door completely off its hinges and moving into the room beyond with it held in front of him like a shield.

It was a good thing he had, because Dean heard the dull thud of knives and gunshots against wood almost immediately.

Then, Dean remembered how Cas wasn't healing normally, and he swore and cursed Cas and his lack of damn patience. Maybe Cas had forgotten too that he could actually be hurt in this place. Maybe even die. The thought of it spurred Dean to move forward quickly, covering Cas's back. Sam followed at his side, firing once, then again, and Dean really hoped he had a good supply of bullets. There were a freaking lot of demons, cops and civilians and old men and kids, their black eyes bright in the yellow, flickering electric light. Also, yellow, and red, and Dean hadn't seen so many different demons since hell. If the lights went out, Dean thought, they'd really be in trouble.

The walls decorated with symbols painted in blood and gore were disconcerting too, vaguely familiar in a way that Dean didn't want to remember. There was no furniture in the room, just mess and filth and demons who hissed and laughed and drew out long, wicked-looking knives, closing in around the three of them.

"Smelled you coming, angel," one grey-faced woman spat at Cas. "Kind of far from home, aren't we?" She was eyeing Cas up in a way that made Dean want to rip her throat out. Like meat, like she wanted to see him bleed.

Another demon, in the form of a gangly teenage boy said, "Winchesters." Dean didn't like the sense of satisfaction he heard in its voice, and he really didn't like the way it reached into its pockets. Without warning, Dean rushed forward, trusting Sam and Cas to stay at his back, and drove the knife right into the teenage demon's throat. There was a horrible gurgling sound, a sparking behind its eyes and mouth and then it was falling to the floor, dead.

Behind him, Dean heard the room explode into howls of rage, and maybe something like joy, and movement. Dean slashed at anything that got too close, retreating to Cas and Sam's side. Sam had dropped two demons with the Colt, and Cas had killed at least four. He must have thrown the door at a bunch of them, because there was scrabbling and the sound of wood splitting as two demons, one a woman who would have looked more at home at a dinner party than involved in a fight, and a tall, wide cop, fought their way out from under it. Cas reached out again, almost faster than Dean could see, pressing the palms of both his hands to two more demons. The movement was quickly followed by two flashes of light and the bodies crumpled to the ground.

It was crappy, Dean thought, how they never seemed to be able to save any of the civilians possessed by demons. There had to be at least twenty more demons crowding into the room, and for every one they killed, it was like another one filled its place. As far as Dean could see there weren't any other doors into the room, no other ways out, but there was so much going on it was hard to be sure.

Taking another swipe at an overweight cop hefting a tyre-iron and an ugly grin, Dean called, "Can we exorcise them? All at once?"

An old man with a stoop and about half his teeth lifted some kind of Glock, holding it steady with both hands and pointed it right at Cas. Dean could see what was going to happen instantly, and in that second knew he was too far away to stop it. He tried anyway, shouting, "Cas! Get down!"

The shot went off, but the warning was enough because Cas dodged and for a moment Dean's heart felt like it had fucking stopped because Cas cried out in pain. He didn't fall though. Still standing, and Dean could breathe. There was blood on one side of Cas's temple, like he'd been grazed, and then Cas was moving, crossing the room with that inhuman speed of his. He grasped the barrel of the gun and ripped it right out of the old guy's hands.

Dean would've liked to watch Cas kill the fucker, but there were other demons to deal with and they were everywhere, closing in. Dean had to turn his concentration to staying alive. Keeping Sam and Cas alive.

A young woman in high heels with short brown hair launched herself at Dean, taking him by surprise and knocking him to the ground, the shock of it loosening his grip on the knife. It fell from his hand and spun away into the mess of feet and bodies around him. The demon punched Dean across the face, and Dean felt the girl's fist all the way through his jaw. He tried bucking her off but she dug her heels into his knees, then hit him again, and again. Dean tried to reach up to grab at her throat or get a hold of her hair but the bitch just growled and hissed and laughed and shifted to press her knee into his chest. The change in position gave Dean a second of freedom though, and he used it to shove his hands into his pocket and pull out a bunch of salt packets he kept there. She didn't see it coming when he ripped one of the paper packets open with his teeth and threw it in her face.

The demon screamed, falling back and clawing at her own face. Dean looked around frantically, spotting his knife not far away. Lucky. That was damn lucky. Shoving the demon's body off him, Dean twisted himself to his side and grabbed for it, felt relief when his hands closed around the handle. He turned back, sitting up and driving the blade into her chest and didn't have time to watch her die before another demon was on him, trying to kick him where he was half sitting, half crouched on the floor.

"Seriously," Dean called, panting now from the exertion and the adrenaline. "Exorcism. One of you. Right now."

"Get into the corner," Cas called back.

Dean couldn't see him, and for a second he felt his muscles tense. But Cas was the strongest of any of them, Dean reminded himself. The idiot angel barely even sounded winded.

He heard Sam respond, "Right," then the sound of two shots being fired. Dean stabbed at the leg of the demon still trying to kick him. It howled and stumbled backwards, tripping over its own feet.

Dean attacked this time, instead of waiting for something to come at him, driving right into the tangle of vying demons. Some of them had weapons, some of them didn't. Dean just kept moving, lashing out, trying to make out which corner Cas had been talking about, keeping an eye on Sam, and trying to stay alive all at once.

By the time Dean managed to see where he was supposed to be going, Sam was already there, back to the wall and fighting off a trio of pen-knife and broken-bottle bearing demons.

Across the room, Dean's eyes caught Cas's somehow, and for just that second Dean felt the lust again, right there between them with a bunch of demons in the way and a fight going on. Dean saw his own want reflected back at him, there on Cas's face. A demon attacked Cas with a long knife, and Cas had to look away and the moment was gone, but the thought of Cas's desire, directed right at him, was fucking hot, and it took all his concentration just to ignore how awesome it made him feel. The demons trying to kill him, Dean reminded himself, were the most pressing issue.

Even with all his focus, and all his strength and determination to keep breathing wasn't enough against what was starting to feel like a whole horde against them. Dean couldn't keep up the pace, felt himself slipping, getting sloppy, breathing hard. His arms were tired and he was sweating profusely and he was just never going to be stronger than a demon. He wasn't quick enough, and a demon dressed in a cop rammed into Dean's side, and this time kept right on going until he felt himself slammed into the wall. Hard.

His left arm connected with the brick and Dean heard a sickening snap. He didn't feel much of anything and was thankful for it, even if he knew he'd be suffering later. He couldn't move the arm, but at least he still had hold of the knife this time, and Dean stabbed down into the demon's back where it was leaning into Dean, trying to drive them both further into the wall.

It fell back, but the other demons knew a weakness when they saw one and they came at him from the left, lashing out and nicking his thigh, his cheek, his shoulder, with their knives. He was just lucky, he supposed, that none of them had a gun.

The thought would have made him pause, because this was a police station and only a few demons had ever taken shots at them, then nothing. It was weird, and felt all wrong, but Dean had no time to dwell on it. The demons were wearing him down, their attacks getting Dean turned around until he wasn't sure where Sam and Cas were anymore.

His odds were looking pretty crappy, and his options limited. He was isolated and starting to feel the bruising on his face, and pain creeping up along his arm and the stinging of the deep cuts all along his left side. There was no way Dean was going to give up though, and for a while he managed to hold his own, killing two demons, one with a deep slice to the throat and one with a stab right into its heart. He was fighting with everything he had, with no reserves, and it wasn't going to last long.

Dean realised he was waiting. He was holding out until Sam and Cas got to him.

He wasn't disappointed.

Dean could see them coming; Cas clearing a path through the demons, shoving them away so hard they were pushed halfway across the room. There was rage in his eyes and Sam at Cas's back, picking off anyone that got too close. He had the Colt and an iron bar now. Preserving bullets, Dean guessed.

It took only another minute until Cas was right there, in front of him, breaking the neck of a middle-aged man in a suit that reminded Dean too much of Zachariah.

"This isn't a corner," Cas said.

Dean huffed a laugh, but didn't have the energy to reply, and then Sam was there, pressed right up against his side and asking, "Are you okay," and then, "Holy shit, your arm."

"Not now," Dean told him sternly, but didn't argue when Cas and Sam pushed him behind them, fighting their way backwards towards the back wall.

"This will do," Cas announced. He was starting to sound worn down, in pain. There was a lot of blood down the side of his face, getting into his eyes and staining his shirt and his coat, from where the bullet had grazed him.

Sam looked like shit too; sweating, grimacing, long, angry-looking scratches across his cheek and down his neck that looked like they'd been made by fingernails.

"I will require some concentration," Cas said, "for a short time, while I attempt to exorcise them."

"One of us can do it," Sam offered.

Cas shook his head. "You would take too long and we are out of time," and with that he started reeling off the exorcism faster than Dean had ever heard, the words sharp and foreign in a way no human could shape them. There was real power in his voice that made Dean's ears ache, and left him wondering if Cas was letting some of that angelic-ness come through.

The demons could definitely feel it. Instantly their mood changed from taunting and confident to desperate. Clawing and screaming and trying to rip into the three of them with bare hands like they'd been driven mad. They focused on Cas, trying to push past Sam and Dean to get to him, reaching for his throat. Dean and Sam fought the horde off as best they could, taking a fuck-load of damage, and Dean could see why Cas had wanted them all together because Cas was much slower like this, concentrating on his words, unable to do the holy light thing. He wasn't defenceless, but he wasn't far off.

Suddenly, Cas's words cut out, and Dean looked over, afraid for a second that a demon had got at Cas. But Cas was still standing there, no more hurt than he had been before. He was frowning, confusion written on his face. Around them, the madness was gone, but the demons were still there, and now they were _angry_.

Their backs to the wall, nowhere to go, Dean ripped open as many packets of salt as he could find in his pocket and threw them in the faces of the demons. They backed up, knocking over some of those behind them.

"Cas," Dean called sharply, getting him to focus on the demons crawling all over each other to rip out his throat.

It got Cas moving, raising his hands to knock back demons. "That should have worked," Cas ground out.

Dean shared a brief look with Sam and, yeah, no way was either of them going to accuse an angel of not getting his Latin right. It should have worked.

They were fucked.

The demons pressed in from all sides and Dean knew they didn't have long. Even Cas didn't look like he could hold them back anymore, taking slashes to his coat and his chest and his arms and his palms. It really sucked, Dean thought, that he'd just gotten Cas back, and now he was going to die. Pissed and frustrated, Dean drove his knife again and again into demon after demon, and twisted away when a heavy-set guy with an ugly as fuck ponytail tried to punch him in the gut.

He dodged the wrong way though, right into the path of a good-looking cop Dean recognised from the diner the day before. She'd taken their statements. Now, she pulled at Dean's broken arm with a gleeful grin on her face. The pain and shock of it made Dean's vision blur and fade around the edges. He lashed out half-blindly, slashing without thinking, knowing he was going down and that the demons were coming at him like a pack of hungry dogs. The last thing Dean heard was Sam shouting desperately and yelling and calling out his name.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean woke up.

It was something he'd never expected to happen again.

When he opened his eyes Dean recognised the white ceiling, and the green walls, and the brown comforter lying over him, and he let himself relax, let himself feel the relief of it. He wasn't in Heaven. He wasn't in Hell. Neither had the imagination for the way the carpet clashed with the curtains, or to bother with the water stains stretched above the window, or the peeling edges of the wallpaper. Just Earth.

Dean ached all over, and knew it was only going to get worse when he had to move, but it wasn't as bad as it should have been after fighting off a horde of demons. The pain was almost welcome, when the alternative was death, except that Dean very clearly remembered getting his arm broken. It should've been agony, but it didn't even feel splinted up. Just kind of sore.

Somewhere close by, Dean could hear Sam and Cas talking in hushed voices. It wasn't quite an argument, but there was definitely some kind of tension between them.

Slowly, Dean turned his head to watch them, to prove to himself that they were real, that this wasn't all some angel or demon trick. But there they were, alive and familiar, sitting on the bed next to his, with papers spread out around them and a first aid kit between them.

Dean watched as Sam leaned in towards Cas's head with cotton balls, telling him, "Hold still." There was blood on Cas's collar, and an ugly-looking graze along the side of Cas's temple. Where he'd been clipped by a bullet, Dean remembered. It really shouldn't have been funny to watch, but Cas looked so miserable and irritated, and Sam looked so exasperated, like they'd been at this for hours and Cas just _wasn't cooperating_ , that Dean couldn't stop from huffing out a laugh.

The sound drew their attention, and they both turned to him.

Sam smiled, pleased and relieved. "Dean! How are you feeling?" He dropped his hand back to his lap, but didn't move from the bed.

Somehow, Sam had managed to convince Cas to take off his coat and jacket. Cas's arms were a cross-hatching of red, healing lines. Both of them were bruised and tired-looking, but in one piece for the most part. Dean was thankful for that at least. They should be dead now. They were being overrun by demons and they should at least have come out of it one hell of a lot more messed up than they had.

Dean answered Sam warily. "Better than I should be." He tried moving his arm and was surprised when it hardly hurt at all. He looked at the arm, then at Sam.

"That was Cas," Sam said simply, shrugging.

"It would be disadvantageous for you to have a broken arm." Cas was staring at Dean- of course he was staring at Dean- but there was a calm to his voice and to his eyes that somehow Dean knew was fake.

Dean told him, "Thanks," and flexed his arm a few times, feeling the memory of the break somewhere along his forearm.

Cas just nodded his head once. "I wish I could have done more." The blankness, the attempt at stillness, made Dean think Cas was seriously concerned about something. Something more than broken bones and cuts and bruises. They had to deal with what was in front of them first though, and what was right in front of him was Cas bleeding all over his shirt.

"Don't let me stop you." Dean pointed to the cotton ball in Sam's hand. He grinned, trying to lighten the mood. Whatever was fucked up, they were all alive and Dean wasn't going to be sorry for being glad for it.

Sam grinned back. "Oh right. Yeah. Cas was being a bad patient."

"It is unnecessary," Castiel said defensively.

"Tell me that when you can heal yourself." Sam had on his determined face, and tutted at Cas, fussing over his head until Cas gave in.

Dean watched as Sam pressed the cotton ball to Cas's skin, and Cas flinched away, hissing. "You can fix my broken arm but not a little graze?" Dean questioned, because Cas had still been able to kill demons with a touch and transport himself, so Dean hadn't thought Cas was _that_ badly weakened.

It was temporary, Dean reminded himself, whatever was going on. This wasn't Cas falling again.

Even though Dean was looking right at him, Cas didn't look like he was going to even attempt to reply.

Sam cut in, "He wore himself out on you and me." He sat back, screwing his face up into something pained. "That sounds really wrong. Let's pretend I didn't say that."

Despite the whole mess of a situation, Dean found himself laughing.

Cas though, Cas still wasn't looking at him. "Are you finished?" he asked Sam, very obviously not in a good mood.

Sam eyed Cas's face, considering, before nodding and saying, "Yeah. Okay. You just need to wash off the mess." He looked down at himself, where the wounds on his skin were mostly healed over, cuts scabbing unnaturally fast and bruises yellow and old-looking. Dean guessed that was Cas's doing. Sam still managed to look like a horror movie reject though; his shirt in tatters, stained with dark blotches and mud and streaks of something black that might have been ectoplasm or oil. Dean didn't like to think what Sam's jacket looked like. What _his_ jacket looked like. "We all do," Sam grimaced.

It wasn't that Dean was uncomfortable, lying between warm, sort of clean sheets on a mostly comfortable bed. But now that he'd thought about it, Dean could feel the pull and itch of dried blood and dirt against his skin. He was still wearing his jeans and t-shirt, and they felt damp, from rain or sweat Dean didn't know. Didn't actually want to know.

Dean was glad they'd taken off his socks, at least.

It made Dean wonder, though. They'd gotten out of that police station and back to the hotel and Dean had no clue how.

"What happened?" he asked, and was met by silence. It made fear rise up in Dean's throat at the thought of what could make both Sam and Cas so unwilling to speak. They looked at each other, and Dean had no clue what he was seeing there, but he really didn't like it.

"Tell me what happened, Sam. Cas." More forcefully this time, and the bastard had better fucking answer him.

"Sam," Cas said, like a challenge, and Sam frowned.

"Right. Fine." Sam shifted on the bed, fidgeting. He didn't look at Dean, but right back at Cas. This was the first time Dean'd actually seen someone else doing the staring thing with Cas. Before, it had always been him getting the full force of Cas's attention, but now it was all on Sam. And Sam was right. It was disturbing.

Sam looked away, towards Dean and in a rush confessed, "You went down. I sort of shouted a lot. I don't know what I was saying. Then the demons just... stopped."

"Just stopped," Dean repeated doubtfully. It made no sense. The demons had them. Could easily have overpowered them. There had to be something they weren't telling him, so Dean looked to Cas. "Cas?"

"It's true," Cas confirmed.

"They stopped, like some switch had been flicked, and suddenly they all just dropped their weapons and left." Sam shrugged, but he didn't look happy. "I don't get it either."

"They were commanded," Cas said.

"By who?" Dean asked. His question was followed again by the freaky, uncomfortable silence. "Okay," Dean said, starting to get annoyed. "What is up with you two? Tell me."

"Cas thinks I ordered it," Sam admitted, and Dean didn't know what the hell that was supposed to mean.

"He said stop," Cas explained. "And they stopped."

"It was a coincidence," Sam defended, but he didn't sound all that convinced. There was no forgetting that Sam had been to Hell. That he'd been Lucifer.

"Maybe they... got confused?" Dean tried. Hoped. Really hoped that this _was_ a coincidence and not evidence that Sam hadn't come back _Sam_. But Cas had said his brother was fine.

_Cas had said._

It made Dean feel kind of better, at least, when Sam argued, "But then why would they attack us in the first place? They didn't exactly pull their punches with me."

"There was no coincidence, nor any mistake," Cas stated, but without any kind of mistrust or doubt. A minute ago, Cas had let Sam near him with rubbing alcohol, and that was enough to convince Dean that Cas wasn't suspicious of Sam.

At least, Dean liked to think so. How could he know for sure what Cas thought? How could they know for sure that somehow all of this didn't have _something_ to do with Sam's recent trip to Hell. And Sam wasn't exactly defending himself. He wasn't telling them he had no power over demons. Telling them he was _him_. Instead, Sam looked mostly unsure.

Sam had told Dean he didn't remember what had happened to him in Hell, and Dean realised that only now did he believe his brother.

"I'd know," Sam said. "Wouldn't I? If I'd come back... different?"

"You are unchanged," Cas told him. It was a fact. No hesitation and no sympathy, just a statement of the truth as Cas knew it.

Sam nodded. "So what could it be?"

"I don't know," Cas replied. He stood up, went over to fetch his suit jacket and his coat from where they were hanging over the back of the chair. Dean found himself fascinated watching Cas pull on the jacket and then the trench coat. He didn't miss the grimace on Cas's face as the fabric pulled and rubbed over the healing wounds on his arms. It was kind of sad, Dean thought, how torn up the coat was. It was such a part of how he recognised Cas that it was weird to see it in such a state. That Cas couldn't fix it, or wasn't willing to spare the energy to, made Dean uncomfortably aware of just how dangerous this town had become.

"I am going to find the missing angels," Castiel told them.

And that was one of the worst ideas Dean had ever heard.

"They could kill you, Cas," Dean protested. "We'll come with you."

Dean made to sit up, ignoring the ache and burn of his muscles as he pushed himself into a sitting position. His head swam and he felt kind of sick, and it was stupid. He'd only just woken up from what must have been hours of sleep, and he was still tired. He wanted to sleep, but there was no way he was letting Cas go out there on his own, up against his dick brothers.

Cas shook his head. "I will move more quickly on my own." He looked Dean dead in the eyes. "You shouldn't even be here." And before Dean could argue back Cas was gone.

"You fucking stupid... feathery... asshole!" Dean yelled after him, hoping to hell the bastard could hear.

"He'll come back, Dean," Sam insisted, sounding certain. He pushed Dean back down onto the bed and fussed with the bedclothes. Dean would follow right after Cas if he had any kind of clue where he'd gone. "He always does," Sam said. He looked over at the window like he wanted to follow too. Rain batted against the windows loudly in the quiet of the room.

Cas had better, Dean thought, limbs like dead weights and suddenly too tired to keep his eyes open. Or he'd kill the idiot angel himself.

***

Dean's cell phone rang nine hours later. He had a whole lecture on fucking off on your own in dangerous situations planned and was about ready to try summoning spells. Ever since he'd woken up and Cas still hadn't returned there'd been a growing unease about his absence that Dean knew Sam was feeling too.

Dean answered the phone, "Where are you?" and knew immediately something seriously wrong.

For a long moment there was silence on the line, then the line was filled with manic, crazed laughter and Dean's stomach twisted. He felt blinding, maddening anger, and he was going to _kill_ these fuckers.

Demons. More freaking demons. No way he could ever mistake their cackling and howling for humans.

"We have a little angel," the voice, slow and cruel, said on the other end of the line. "We've been having lots of fun."

Yeah. Dean was going to _fucking kill them all_.

"Where is he, you son of a bitch?" Dean demanded.

He saw Sam turn to him, startled. He mouthed, "Cas?" and Dean nodded sharply. Sam moved closer, listening in.

"Here with us," the demon sing-songed. There was cheering and cursing and dull thuds and scraping sounds that made Dean feel sick, made him want to tear something to pieces. "Doesn't talk much, does he?"

"I am going to rip your fucking head off," Dean told the demon, and Dean was surprised by how flat his voice sounded.

Next to him, Dean could feel Sam shaking. Looking at his brother, Dean could see his own rage reflected back at him. This anger was wrong, and it should have been frightening, but Dean was glad. Together, the two of them were going to make those demons pay for even thinking about hurting Cas. They were going to get back the angel, and then Dean was going to yell at Cas for a month for leaving them.

The demon laughed, "I'd like to see you try, Dean Winchester."

The way the demon said his name sent a cold shiver down Dean's back. Like it knew. Like the evil thing knew what Dean and Cas had been doing lately. Like it knew Dean wanted to keep Cas, wanted him to stay, wanted to become familiar with every inch of his body. And the demon was laughing at Dean because it was going to take all that away, make that impossible. Jesus. It was going to kill Cas.

On the other end of the line Dean could hear the sounds of stones crunching together. Water splashing. Taunts and hissing and shouting. It freaked Dean out that he couldn't hear Cas. That he hadn't heard a single sound out of Cas but he knew, somehow he just _knew_ that these demons weren't lying.

"You tell me where he is right now-" Dean pretty much yelled down the phone.

The bastard demon cut in, gleefully, "You'll never find him alive. We're gonna drop him in the river and see if angels can breathe underwater. Bet you they can't."

Then the line went dead.

"Fuck."

Dean tried to redial, but Cas's phone went straight to voicemail. Maybe the demon had smashed up Cas's phone. No way to tell, and it wasn't like it mattered. There was no negotiating with demons. No mercy. They were going to try to kill Cas, and Cas was alone and fuck knew what the demons had done to him already, and Dean was so fucking _angry_. How the hell had Cas managed to get himself caught by a bunch of demons in the first place? He was an angel for Christ's sake. He'd proven again and again he could be a pretty hardcore fighter if he had to be. But Cas was down on his mojo and Dean had let him go. Dean should have known something was wrong. He should've _known_. Cas should have called in all that time he was gone, at least to make sure he and Sam were okay. He should have gone looking after the third time Cas hadn't picked up.

"You heard that, right?" Sam sounded about as pissed as Dean felt. Antsy. His brother pulled on his jacket, started gathering up their weapons. They didn't have much time and they both knew it. Maybe they were already too late. "There's only one river that runs anywhere near this town."

Think of it like a hunt, Dean told himself. We're looking for a missing guy, and he and Sam were going to follow the clues and save him.

Dean shoved his phone back into his pocket and went to retrieve his jacket. His knife was in the pocket and it felt good in his hand.

"You looked up the geography of this town when we were in the library?" That was the only place Dean could think of where Sam might've learned that, and sometimes, Dean was so damn _glad_ that Sam was a total geek.

"Yeah." Sam shot him a grin before going back to shoving salt packets into his bag. "I wondered where the boundaries of the force field- or whatever it is- were. If we go with a circular boundary, because most things in magic are, we don't have much ground to cover to find Cas. There's only maybe a mile or two of river inside the barrier."

Dean didn't argue that they had no way of knowing for sure the demons hadn't taken Cas outside of the barrier. Dean didn't point out that if the demons had thrown Cas in the river and he was human enough he'd already be dead.

Instead, he grabbed his own bag, making sure his handgun was securely in his belt. "How far from here?"

"We need a car," Sam said, opening the hotel room door. Dean followed, letting his anger drive him on, letting it help him forget any of the lingering ache in his arm.

Down the hallway, down the stairs, out onto the street.

The sidewalk was strewn with mud and wreckage and trash, like a flood had recently come through. The rain had turned into an unpleasant drizzle.

On the other side of the road a fight had broken out, with two older guys punching and gouging at each other like they meant to kill. There was a crowd around them of maybe half a dozen people, soaked to the skin but heckling and shouting and laughing like they were enjoying themselves. Baying for blood.

Dean and Sam hurried up the street, not wanting to get caught up in anything. They had no time.

Further up, a couple of shops had had their front windows smashed. There was blood on the glass. They didn't stop to investigate.

Dean stopped at the first car they came across parked along the sidewalk that wasn't some new model complete with alarms and electronic locking systems, and looked to be in pretty good shape. Dean pried open the lock with a metal strip he'd had since High School, and first learned to jimmy a car. Sam was already around the other side, standing by the passenger side door and keeping watch. It was kind of pointless, Dean thought. The way the town had turned into a madhouse he was pretty sure no one would even notice them breaking into a car. Dean just hoped it would start without any problems.

Only one way to find out.

The door was easy to open and Dean slid into the front seat, glad to be out of the rain. His jacket was already damp and heavy and uncomfortable, and the car had an old, musty smell to it that made Dean screw up his nose and wish for the Impala. They'd have to make do with what they had.

Leaning over, Dean quickly unlocked the passenger side door for Sam before getting to work hotwiring the car. At the first attempt the engine just sort of sputtered, and Dean felt rising panic and a very real urge to smash the car's windows in spite, but he gritted his teeth, knowing he was wasting time and tried again.

The second time the car at least sounded like it was vaguely close to starting up, and Dean listened carefully to the engine turn over, trying to decide if it was worth attempting to fix it or if they should just move on to another car. The third time the engine started and Sam urged, "Let's go. Straight up this road, Dean." Like Dean didn't already know they were in a hurry.

Dean put the car into drive and took off, thankful at least that there weren't any other cars in the road. He had to drive around the debris of looted shops sprawling out into the road, abandoned boxes, and what looked like a lawn mower, Sam leaning forward and directing him around them. He went as fast as he dared, paranoid the car was going to give up on them. The engine sounded crap, and Dean would like to have throttled the bastard who'd let his car get in such a state.

Sam directed," Left," and then, "Right," and then they were coming out of the town, the houses larger and more spread out. They passed a lot of fights, had to drive around a few and didn't stop when angry townspeople slammed fists against the hood of the car. They saw a lot of people just wandering around like they had no idea what they should be doing and didn't much care. Dean thought they looked like zombies, with dead eyes and blank expressions and three times Dean almost ran someone over.

They drove past a school that looked abandoned, windows smashed and cars parked haphazardly in front of the building. Beside him, Sam watched it pass and didn't say anything but Dean could guess what he was thinking. The same thing Dean was asking: what had happened to the kids in this town?

It was only then, seeing the school and its scorched doorways, that Dean realised he hadn't seen anyone under the age of maybe twenty in town at all. He hadn't even noticed, maybe thinking they'd all be in school or something. But now he thought about it, Dean hadn't seen a single baby with its mother, or a toddler, or a group of kids hanging out in the afternoon on some random street corner.

"We're nearly there," Sam said. He was taking his shotgun out of his bag, checking the shells.

There was no way they'd be too late, Dean decided. Cas was a strong bastard and he'd be alive. He'd hold on, knowing Dean and Sam would come for him. Dean put his foot down, needing to find him right the fuck _now_. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, urging, "Come on, come on."

Following the road as it veered right, Dean could see open ground on one side of the river and on the other side a dense line of trees. Dean really hoped those hellhound creatures weren't out here.

"I guessed that the boundary starts around here somewhere." Sam pointed out the windshield toward where the tree line and the river met.

"We're just going to search the riverbank?" Dean asked. "We've got nothing else to go on?"

"Not unless you heard anything that could give us a clue."

"I heard stones," Dean remembered.

Sam nodded, looking excited. "So we know it's not here." He peered out at the riverbanks, scanning the area around them. "There's only mud."

There was no road that followed the river, so Dean just turned off the pavement onto the grass and hoped the car could take it. The ground felt soft beneath the car tyres but not so bad they'd get stuck. He drove carefully though, not getting too close to the banks, but enough that Sam could see.

It had to have been at least fifteen minutes, twenty maybe, since they'd gotten the call, and it took all of Dean's patience to keep moving slowly. The silence and the waiting and the caution were killing him, making him think of all the things that the demons could have done to Cas and all the thousands of ways Dean knew to make the demons pay for it. They had hardly anything to go on, and Dean couldn't ignore the possibility that this was all a diversion, that the demons had been lying to keep Dean and Sam away. They could have dragged Cas back to Hell with them by now, for all he knew.

Rage swelled up in Dean again, hot and blinding and trying to claw its way out of his throat. He tried to ignore it, concentrating instead on driving and not thinking. Concentrating on hoping that they were right about this. That the demons weren't _that_ smart.

Dean was really damn glad when Sam suddenly sat up straight, saying, "There, Dean! Stop!"

He put his foot on the brake and Sam was out of the car with his shotgun in hand and his bag thrown over his shoulder before it'd even fully come to a stop, running across the mud and picking his way down to the shoreline.

Following after Sam, Dean saw that the bank was made up of small stones here, all the way up to the water's edge. They were exposed, out in the open, and Dean pulled out his knife, looking up and down the river for any signs of life.

Nothing.

"Shit," Dean swore, speeding up, ignoring the way the cold mud splattered up his jeans and the rain soaked his face. It was easier to run once he got on to the river beach. Sam was already a ways upstream, looking at the ground, for any signs of a struggle or clues, Dean guessed. Dean kept his head up, trusting that Sam would find something, covering them both in case any demons lingered. Something in Dean really hoped they had so he had something to _hurt_.

It drove Dean crazy that they were here and they weren't finding anything and that they might _never_ find anything. Dean was just trying to think what they could try if this didn't get them Cas, because there was no way Dean was giving up on the annoying angel bastard now. He'd just come back. They'd _fucked_ for Christ's sake. It was hard to think that maybe that was just the town messing with their minds when even before all this Dean had thought of Cas as a friend. Trusted him. No reason sex had to get in the way of anything.

Then, Sam called back, "Dean! I found something!" and Dean broke into a run.

At Sam's feet was Cas's phone, smashed against the rocks.

In the immediate area it was clear that the stones had been disrupted. He could make out evidence of movement, a lot of feet turning over the beach but no way to know how many. There was blood, and something had been dragged out into the water.

The river itself was flowing fast, probably made worse by the incessant rain. It was going to be cold and he had no idea how deep it was, but at least the fast-moving surface looked relatively smooth, so there couldn't be too many rocks he could get smashed against. There was no hesitation when Dean decided he had to get out there.

He pulled off his jacket and shoes, threw his bag to Sam and ordered, "Wait here."

Sam started, "Dean, wait-" but Dean was already wading out into the river, hissing as painfully freezing water swirled around his legs, as rocks cut into his feet. He focused on getting out further. On Cas, who had been in this water for at least _half a freaking hour_.

Dean followed the tracks of something heavy being dragged along the riverbed, glad that the water was more or less clear in the shallows. He followed them until the water was up to his chest and he couldn't see the ground clearly anymore. The water pushed forcefully against his side and Dean knew he'd have to swim hard to keep from being swept off downstream. Then, he took three deep breaths, steeling himself, and dived in.

It was like having all the air knocked suddenly from his lungs, something tightening and wrapping itself around his chest, and Dean had to force himself to move his arms and legs, to swim, to get to the surface.

Yeah, if Cas was a human, if he didn't have enough angel-juice left, he was dead.

Dean knew he couldn't last long in this.

He kicked out, surfacing and it felt almost warm out of the water. He couldn't stay. He took a long breath before diving down again. Keeping his eyes open and his hands stretched out in front of him, fighting against the current and the cold, Dean tried to find the riverbed, tried to feel around, looking for something. Looking for _anything_.

He stayed until his throat was burning and he was getting light-headed. When he resurfaced it was hard to keep his head above water, to keep swimming against the flow of water. Dean let himself have maybe four deep breaths this time before he was diving again, straight down until he touched the bottom and then almost crawling his way along it. It wasn't as deep as it could've been but it was still murky and Dean could barely see a thing. He was getting to about all he could take when his hand came across something. Material, tan and familiar, and Dean held on to it, pulling himself closer with it. Looking at it more closely Dean knew it was Cas's coat.

But Dean was out of air and it took everything he had to let go and swim up to the surface, straining hard to keep in the same place. He was under the water almost immediately, reaching out and heading straight down and this time Dean's hands knocked against something soft. It moved as Dean came into contact with it, and when Dean was close he could make out that it was Cas's arm. He held on, drawing himself closer, and Cas's head came into view, bowed forward, his hair trailing in different directions with the flow of the river.

Shaking Cas, desperate to know he was still alive, Cas's whole body moved with the way Dean was pushing at him. He didn't seem conscious though, and something was holding him down, keeping him here.

Clambering along the line of Cas's arm, Dean found that he was chained by his wrists to heavy rocks, and that didn't make sense until Dean looked closer. There, on the surface of the stones, he could make out Enochian symbols carved neatly, skilfully, and deeply embedded.

Dean was running out of air.

He shook Cas harder until his head tipped back and for a moment Dean thought that he was looking into nothing more than half-open, dead eyes. But there was some spark there, some awareness, a gaze that was following Dean's movements.

_Alive._

Desperation gripped Dean, colder than the freezing water or the crushing need to breathe. He followed the line of Cas's arms back down to the chains around his wrists, followed them to where the chains were hammered into the rock. Trying to shoot the chains wouldn't work here, a knife would be useless, and trying to yank them out would be pointless. He tried anyway, feeling the corroded metal slipping through his fingers. Dean looked at the chains on Cas's wrists, looking for a lock to pick, an edge to try and pry open but there was nothing. He looked up at Cas, who was watching Dean calmly, not once blinking. Cas looked so fucking pale down here. Dean didn't think he was even breathing.

Cas's eyes rolled upwards and for a second Dean was afraid that was it. He was too late and Cas just couldn't take it any longer and was going to die on him, but then Cas looked back down at Dean, then back up towards the surface and Dean remembered, fuck, yeah. _Air_.

He kicked out, half-instinctively because his lungs were on _fire_. Breaking the surface, Dean gasped and panted and almost forgot to keep swimming, to hold his place.

For a few moments Dean let himself just breathe, trying to clear his head so he could think straight. So he could work out what the hell he was going to do now. He wasn't going to be any good to Cas if he managed to drown himself. Cas had held out for this long, and he trusted he could hold out a little longer.

From the shore he heard Sam calling his name, and Dean spared his brother a wave, before he was heading back down, hoping some idea would come to him.

This time Dean found Cas's shoulder and used his trench coat to pull himself close again, manoeuvring in front of Cas.

This time, though, Cas's eyes were closed and Dean grabbed his face, felt Cas's frozen skin, shook him roughly, willing the bastard not to give up on him now. It didn't take long for Cas to open his eyes, but Dean was crazy-relieved anyway to see the bastard looking back at him, wearily.

Cas stared at Dean for a moment, then looked down at the rock to his left, narrowing his eyes, and Dean knew he was trying to tell him something. Dean followed the gaze to the Enochian sigils, and thought he understood.

It took him a few seconds to find a large, sharp-edged stone, to get a hold on it with his painfully cold, stiff fingers, and then he was bringing it down against the surface of the symbols, trying to break them. It was really damn difficult to aim, to keep a good grip on the rock, to get any kind of momentum behind his blows softened by the water.

He didn't spare a glance for Cas, knowing that exerting himself like this would give him less time before he'd need to go to the surface for air. And Dean knew he was weakening. He could feel the cold down to his bones, slowing his movements and making him feel heavy, making every muscle cramp and ache.

His eyes hurt, his throat burned, he felt sick with water in his stomach, but he was not going to give up. He'd found Cas alive and he wasn't going to let those bitch demons take this from him too.

Gritting his teeth, Dean put everything into slamming the rock down, breathing out every last breath of air in his lungs, and suddenly he was choking down water, breathing it in.

Not very clever, Dean found himself thinking, trying to get his limbs to move, to get somewhere he could breathe. Then, he felt cool fingers pressed against his forehead and before Dean could form another thought he was out in the air, with hard stones under his hands and knees, hacking up water, and shivering so violently he thought he was going to shake apart.

Dean felt a hand against his back, warm, wrapping him in a jacket, rubbing against his arm and Sam saying, "Shit, Dean."

Moving hurt, _everything_ hurt, but Dean needed to see, needed to know. He blinked water out of his eyes, locked his arms so he didn't collapse into a heap and turned his head to see Sam right beside him.

Beyond Sam, Dean could see Cas lying with his back to them. Sam had one hand on Cas's ankle, and he could see Cas's shoulders rising and falling. Breathing.

"He's alive," Sam said. "He's alive."


	7. Chapter 7

Dean had to hand it to his brother. Somehow he'd managed to single-handedly get an almost completely out of it Cas back to the car. Dean was shaking so hard he pretty much hadn't been able to help at all.

"Take off your jacket, Dean," Sam ordered urgently, shoving the both of them down onto the back seat. "And get Cas's coat off him."

Sam unbent himself from the car and walked around to the back of the car, to break in to the trunk, Dean guessed. That left Dean to try and peel off Cas's sodden trench coat with numb fingers. Cas offered no assistance, barely conscious and barely breathing, his skin like ice where Dean's hands brushed against it.

"I hope angels don't get hypothermia," Dean told Cas, hoping for some kind of response. He yanked Cas's arm free, feeling the freezing water seeping out of the material onto his legs and chest and running up his forearms, making Dean shiver. "Do you know how long you were down there for? Jesus, Cas. You can really hold your breath."

The second arm came free more easily and Dean let Cas's trench coat fall to the car floor, considering the suit jacket. Just taking off the coat had left Dean exhausted, panting and sick to his stomach. But Cas's eyes were still closed and his head lolled lifelessly against Dean's shoulder, and all Dean wanted was to see some kind of reaction from him. He wanted Cas awake so he would know all of this wasn't for nothing. That Cas was going to be okay.

So he ignored the cold pinching his skin and cramping his muscles and got to work on Cas's jacket, then his tie, trying to rub some heat into his back and his arms and down his sides, even though he was fairly certain he didn't have much to offer.

Dean was trying to get Cas's shoes off when Sam reappeared in the backseat on the other side of Cas with a tarp and the rattiest blanket Dean had ever seen.

"Leave Cas to me," he said. "Get out of your own clothes."

Sam was getting way too comfortable ordering Dean around.

It was hard to give Cas up, but freezing to death wouldn't help anyone, so he let Sam pull Cas away into his own arms, wrapping the old blanket around his shoulders and trying to use it to dry Cas's face and hair. Cas's lips were blue.

Dean found it even harder to take off his own jacket and shoes than he had Cas's and by the time he'd finished he was sure he was going to puke all over his own feet.

"We need somewhere warm," Sam said. He was holding Cas against his chest, rubbing at his back. Cas's head was tipped forward, his eyes closed. Dean wanted to see him awake, for him to tell Dean he was fine and for it to be the truth.

"He still breathing?" Dean asked hoarsely. It hurt to talk, his throat weirdly dry after all that water. He reached out to Cas's hand, took his wrist to feel the pulse there, proof that he was still alive.

Sam nodded. "He's not shivering. That can't be good. We're all too cold to do much good here."

It was still raining outside, and even though Sam had shut the car door behind him that was keeping out almost nothing of the chill at all. And it was starting to get dark again.

"The hotel?" Dean suggested. They might have been able to find someplace closer, but the time they'd have to spend looking outweighed the expediency of having somewhere to go to.

Sam looked dubious, and Dean agreed it was a risk, with how crazy the people of the town had turned, but they didn't have time to hang around debating it.

"We're better armed than most of the people in this town," Dean pointed out. "Drive, Sam."

His hands were shaking, ice-cold river water dripping into his eyes and Dean knew he was in no shape to drive himself.

Sam only hesitated for a second, looking between Dean and Cas, before agreeing, "Okay."

He passed Cas over to Dean, and it was really weird to see how easily Sam was able to manhandle Cas's unconscious body. He wrapped the tarp awkwardly around them both. "Keep warm," Sam instructed sternly as he backed out of the car, like Dean didn't already know that. Like there wasn't anything more in the world Dean wanted right then than to be _warm_.

Sitting in the front seat, Sam rubbed his face with his hands, tried to dry his hands on his shirt before picking up the shotgun he must have, at some point, put down on the seat beside him. Sam turned, holding it out to Dean.

"We don't know what it's going to be like in town," he said, and Dean nodded, knowing that if things had gotten any more insane than they'd been earlier, Dean might need to start shooting. Humans. To keep Sam and Cas safe he'd do it. Dean took the weapon and tried to steady his hands.

It was the cold, he told himself. It was the fucking cold and nothing else.

Somehow, Sam got the car started in one try, carefully revving up the engine before cranking up the heat. It wasn't much but it was something, and the most warmth Dean had felt in what seemed like hours. Dean was ridiculously glad when he felt Cas stir beside him, murmuring in something that didn't sound even vaguely English. Dean put a hand on Cas's neck to feel his pulse- slow and erratic but there- and to know he wasn't going anywhere. The frozen skin of his throat and the soaked material of his shirt felt unpleasant against Dean's hand.

Pulling away much faster than they'd arrived, it didn't take long before Sam was back on the road, driving on streets Dean recognised from the journey to the river. This was worse, Dean decided, because now they had Cas and Dean couldn't do anything to help him except keep a hand pressed against his pulse to make sure it didn't stop, and to hold him against his chest and hope it helped warm him even a little.

Dean couldn't quell his impatience, and knew it was a pointless thing to do even as he told Sam, "Drive faster," and, "Hurry up" and, "Jesus Christ, we're not out for a fucking leisure ride."

On the way to the river, the townspeople and their fighting and insanity had been a distraction, something to concentrate on that wasn't Cas drowning to death. Now they were in his way and slowing them down, a greater threat than before. The madness had gotten worse and Dean kept his attention trained to the ruined streets and houses as they passed.

There was a lot of shit going on that Dean couldn't work out, groups gathered on lawns and in the road smashing up cars and each other. Some people kneeled and covered their faces in despair, looking a lot like they were _praying_ , shouting and screaming for God or for _something_ to save them. Dean wondered if Cas would appreciate the irony. He probably wouldn't get it.

A crazed old woman threw herself in front of the car, screeching at Sam that they were all going to Hell. It was difficult for Dean not to tell Sam to run the bitch down, and as soon as he'd thought it Dean wondered when he'd become so _cold_. It wasn't like him. Like the lust, and the anger, it had to be this place. It had to be, because Dean refused to turn back into that murdering asshole he'd once been.

Sam swerved around the woman, put his foot down and Dean could see him grinding his teeth in the rear-view mirror, trying to keep it together.

They made it to the hotel in a lot less time than it'd taken them to get to the river and Dean felt kind of sick from all the swerving Sam had been doing.

The fights they'd seen earlier had broken up, but there was blood on the ground where Sam pulled up right outside the hotel door, and Dean could see at least two corpses along the street. More crazies were running around the place, begging for salvation, or else just wandering, aimless. They looked harmless enough but Dean wasn't going to take the chance. He kept the shotgun up, watching Sam's back as he got out of the car, gathering up their crap, moving fast.

There was an unsettling, claustrophobic atmosphere, like they were just waiting for something bad to happen, and from the pinched look on Sam's face as he opened the back door Dean guessed he felt it too. He was loaded down with their bags, and started pulling Cas out, tarp and all, trusting Dean could keep them covered.

No matter how heavy and aching Dean's limbs felt there was no way he was going to let that stop him. So he pushed himself out of the car as quickly as he could, weapon raised, and followed after Sam toward the hotel door. The other people on the street didn't spare them a glance.

The inside of the building looked mostly untouched, just some knocked over furniture and plants. No signs of struggle or looting. It was quiet, and Dean didn't like it, but they had nowhere else to go and Cas was more a less a dead weight in Sam's arms.

Getting into the room was a pain in the ass, because Sam had to prop Cas up against the hallway wall to pick the lock. Neither of them could remember what they'd done with the keys and Sam was unwilling to break the door down.

Dean was uncomfortable as hell by the time they made it into the room, his clothes damp and cold and gritty clinging to his skin in all the wrong places. His teeth wouldn't stop chattering, and it was a fight to keep his arm steady and the shotgun aimed straight. He was glad when the door was shut behind them and Dean could slide the deadbolt in place.

Sam left Dean to lock up the door, dragging Cas over to the bed and stripping him of the rest of his clothes and Dean wondered at the number of times they'd gotten Cas semi-naked in the last two days. The thought reminded Dean of the feel of Cas's pale skin, smooth and warm under his fingers. Where Dean touched him, Cas would push himself closer, and Dean remembered the heat of his breath and the weight of his body and _this was not the time_. Dean tried to occupy himself with lining the door and windows with salt. He would've drawn devil's traps too, keeping himself from looking over at Cas, if Sam hadn't called him over.

"Get your clothes off," he ordered, stripping himself down and not looking like this was bothering him at all.

It was really hard for Dean not to see the exposed skin of Cas's shoulders and neck and lips, tinged a really unhealthy shade of blue now, and think anything other than _dead_.

"Dean!" Sam snapped angrily. "You need the warmth too. Get in the damn bed."

He'd wrapped Cas up in the blankets from both beds, and was pressed against Cas's right side with the comforter over them both. And yeah, Dean's skin prickled with the cold, his head heavy with it, making it hard to think. He handed over the shotgun to Sam and stripped down as quickly as he could before sliding himself under the covers on the other side of Cas.

"This is weird," Dean said, but he put his arms around Cas anyway, glad that Sam had wrapped him in blankets so that he wouldn't have to feel that icy skin against his stomach and his chest. Sam had laid Cas on his back, but his head had fallen on the pillow to face Dean. With his eyes closed and his expression clear of his usual stern look, and his hair messed up, Cas looked just like any other human.

Sam reached over and put a hand on Dean's shoulder, huffing a laugh. "It isn't weird. You've already slept with him."

Dean grimaced. "Dude, say that to me when we're not all naked in bed together, okay?"

"Then you're going to love this," Sam retorted. "Get rubbing, Dean."

It should have been freaking disturbing, but their fucked up conversation almost made things seem normal with Sam bitching at him and Dean teasing him right back. All the murderous rage, and the need to touch and fuck was just _gone_ , like it had never been there. Now there was just getting Cas to survive this. To stop being an unhealthy grey colour. To open his damn eyes.

And as Dean and Sam rubbed at Cas's back and his arms and his legs, Dean could feel life and warmth coming back into him and Dean found he really couldn't give a shit how weird this whole naked bed-sharing thing was.

***

The morning brought eerie quiet, and when Dean opened the curtains to look outside he saw smoke and fires burning all over town.

Sometime in the night they'd heard explosions, maybe cars going up, maybe houses. Listening to screams and shouts, to the sound of gunshots, and not doing anything about it was incredibly hard. But they couldn't leave Cas, who lay more or less lifeless between them, his hair a mess and his face slack and somehow still managing to look uncomfortable. Dean knew Sam hadn't gotten much sleep either. He'd kept the shotgun close all night.

It was dawn, or at least it was supposed to be, but the sky was still dark with heavy rain clouds. Dean was beginning to think he'd never see the sun again, just an endless expanse of grey. The flames of the fires cast a hazy orange glow across the sky.

Cas had woken up tight-lipped and asking about his coat. As much as it was really damn good to hear him talking again, even if it was hoarser than usual, sleepy and weak in a way that Cas had never been before, Dean knew Cas was hiding something from them. He could see it in the way Cas looked around the room like it was going to attack him, and the way he looked at Dean with something a lot like pity.

Cas wouldn't drink the water Sam gave him, but he didn't protest at Dean helping him into an old t-shirt of Sam's and a pair of Dean's jeans, his own clothes ruined. Dressing left Cas panting, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his eyes tightly shut. He was still sick and was finding it hard to keep upright for long, so Dean wrapped one of the blankets around his shoulders and sat next to him, propping him up.

"We're leaving," Dean told them, and Sam nodded as though he'd been thinking it too, getting up and starting to gather the bags. It wasn't like they'd had much time to unpack. "We get the car-"

"If it's still there," Sam interrupted.

"-Right. We're getting _a_ car and then we're getting out of here."

Beside him, Cas shook his head slowly. "We can't," he said.

Dean knew Cas could be a stubborn bastard, but even Cas had to realise they were not going to be able to get anywhere like they were. They had no clue what was happening. They had no back up. And Dean really didn't like the way Cas kept listing to the side, or the still blue-tinged colour of his skin and the clamminess of it. "You can come back with more of your angel buddies later but, Cas, you're in no condition to stay here and fight this whole town."

"You misunderstand," Cas told him. "It is not possible for us to leave now. We... have gone too far."

"We haven't gone anywhere," Sam argued. He laughed without any humour. "I swear we've spent half our time in this damn room."

Cas grimaced, opening his eyes to stare down at the carpet. "You might not be able to see it, as such, but we have travelled a very long way."

"Okay, what the hell does that mean?" Dean demanded.

"You know already that this town is made from the people here."

Sam nodded. "Like they've created the town themselves. Right." Sam started pacing. "There're no kids here," he commented.

"There never could be," Cas said.

Sam stopped suddenly, turning towards Cas and folding his arms. "You know where we are."

Cas didn't look up to meet Sam's gaze. "Yes."

"We're in Spring Green, in Wisconsin," Dean pointed out, even though he didn't really believe it himself. Not anymore. There was no way a town could go to hell like this and no one in the outside world notice. And Cas had said this town didn't exist.

"No, we're not."

Sam looked uncertain when he asked, "Then where?"

Cas hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Did you consider," he said, "That those believed to have disappeared from this town were not the ones who were missing?"

There was silence as Dean tried to understand, as he remembered the windows and signboards plastered with missing person posters, and the way the people in the town had spoken in whispers and fear that first day.

Sam got there first. "We're the ones who're missing, aren't we?"

Cas shook his head, slow and sad. "Not missing."

Getting irritated by Cas's stalling, wanting a single freaking straight answer, Dean began, "Then where-" but Cas interrupted, straightening up beside Dean, suddenly alert. "We have to go," Cas announced.

He was watching the door like he could see something beyond it. Something coming.

Automatically, Dean's hand went to his knife. "That's what I was-"

"No." Cas was trying to stand, his fists clenching, agitated. "We can't go back. But we can go forward. This is not a good place."

"I noticed that," Dean said dryly, but he was already up on his feet, steadying Cas and finding him some dry, reasonably clean socks and shoes. Sam was already standing by the door, shotgun in hand.

It was so weird to see Cas without his trench coat and in normal clothes. He looked a whole lot skinnier and more human, pulling on socks and trying to keep his balance.

Dean kept close to Cas as they moved towards Sam, steadier with every step but in no shape to be on the run, but Cas's urgency told him staying here and stalling to ask questions could get them killed. He had no clue what was happening, or where they were going if they couldn't get out of this town, but Cas seemed confident.

Dean could see the goosebumps on the skin of his arms, so he grabbed one of his shirts and threw it over Cas's shoulder.

"You're cold," he told Cas. "We running or driving?"

"Neither."

As soon as Sam was close enough, Cas extended his hands towards them, and Dean got what he meant to do. He tried to stop him, rearing back and saying, "Cas, wait-" but he wasn't fast enough, and in the next breath Dean found himself in an unfamiliar alleyway. They were back out in the rain and Dean was _pissed_.

"Some warning, Cas-"

"There was no time." Cas hunched over on himself, breathing unsteadily.

"You stupid bastard," Dean said, taking hold of Cas's arm and hauling him over to the nearest wall, leaning him against the crumbling, wet stone. It wasn't a wide alley, and it looked like it opened out on both ends to major streets. The buildings on either side of them were tall and blank, with no windows, or doors. Nowhere to hide or run to if they were cornered from both sides.

Dean would swear it was colder every time they stepped outside, so cold now that he could see his breath and Cas's, fast and uneven. Without thinking what he was doing, Dean wrapped his hand around the back of Cas's neck, rubbing his thumb through the ends of Cas's hair. With an inhumanly strong grip, Cas held on to Dean's arm, leaning into him. He was just getting Cas to calm down, Dean told himself. Giving him time to get his breath back.

Close by, Dean didn't miss the way Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head and went to investigate the end of the alley, keeping himself hidden in the shadows.

The air smelled of burning, and Dean could hear the sound of people in the distance, shouting and arguing.

"Why did you bring us here?" Dean asked when Cas had relaxed some, breathing normally again. The hotel room had been more defensible. And dry.

"The angels," Cas told him. "They had found us. Me."

"The angels you were looking for?"

"Yes."

Cas pushed himself away from Dean and the wall, standing up straight and looking cautiously up and down the alleyway like he was searching for something.

Dean watched him as he moved towards the centre of the path, slowly, but more stable than he had been before. He was getting wet again, his messed up hair flattening down. The rain wasn't heavy, but it was persistent and fucking annoying.

"It's not a good thing you found them, then?" Dean asked. Neither his nor Sam's weapons would be of any use against angels, and Dean seriously doubted Cas was up to any kind of death match against one of his brothers right now.

"More accurately, they have not so much found us as we have... walked in on them. I couldn't find them before because they weren't there."

Dean wondered if Cas was delirious. "Man, make more sense."

"I can't decide," Cas said, like he'd just gone and totally ignored Dean, "If it is a good thing or a bad thing that you don't understand."

There was the sound of an explosion somewhere nearby, and Dean could hear windows shattering and saw red and yellow light flare up along the walls bordering their alleyway. Dean felt the shockwave under his feet and heard the motion of the buildings around them as scraping blocks and grinding stone. Sam ran back towards them, calling, "That was just a couple blocks down. I couldn't see what caused it."

"An angel," Cas said. "He approaches."

"Just one?" Dean asked.

"Just one, but others will follow."

"Can we outrun them?" Sam suggested.

"I don't think I can fly again. I had hoped I could get us far enough away. Using human means would be pointless."

"Don't worry about it," Dean said, putting a hand on Cas's arm, because the poor bastard really didn't look like he could walk anywhere very far, let alone run.

"Can we hide?" Dean tried.

That gave Cas pause. "You are already hidden," he said. Cas looked between Sam and Dean urgently. "You must leave me. They won't find you."

"We are _not_ leaving you," Dean insisted. Yeah, really no. Dean would've thought Cas had got that into his angel brain by now.

"You're gonna have to think of something else," Sam agreed.

"There is no other way. Go," Cas pleaded. " _Now_." He pointed behind Sam towards the end of the alleyway. "That way, turn to the right and follow the road. The next few hours will be worse. Don't stop. Don't talk to anyone."

There was another explosion, even closer. The blasting sound made Dean's ears ache, and this time he could feel heat against his skin.

"We'll go together," Sam said, taking Cas by the arm and starting to herd him down the road. They could at least try, Dean thought. It was a sign of how tired Cas was that he didn't even protest, just frowned and let Sam pull him along.

"It is too late," he said.

In the next blink of an eye a tall, young man with cropped brown hair, and wearing a fitting charcoal grey suit appeared directly in front of Cas and Sam. Within a breath the new guy attacked, aiming a short silver sword right at Cas's neck. There was no mistaking the stranger for anything other than an angel.

Shoving Sam to the side, Cas managed to block the attack with his own sword. He did some complicated, faster-than-the-eye-could-see move to redirect the other angel's knife away from his body and then thrust forward. The angel was surprised by the move and Cas managed to bury his knife in the guy's gut before he'd managed to mount any kind of defence. The angel's eyes flashed with blinding light and he dropped his knife, hissing and moaning as Cas backed him up against the wall, slapping a hand over the angel's eyes, keeping his sword pressed into the guy's stomach.

"Speak," Cas commanded. It was creepy and kind of frightening how full of rage and power Cas looked at that moment. He was holding himself still, his arm pressing hard where he pinned the other angel across the chest.

"And tell you what, traitor?" The angel sneered, but it looked painful. There was blood on his lips.

"You fled Heaven," Cas said. "For what purpose?"

" _Purpose_?" the angel repeated. He struggled against Cas but only succeeded in impaling himself further on the blade. The angel hissed but stopped fighting. "We serve the true commander of Heaven," he spat. "Not some weak foot soldier who is barely older than the Earth."

Cas didn't seem at all put off by the insult, but Dean could see him shift his shoulders. There was sweat on his pale face. Cas couldn't keep this up for long. "And who is the true commander of Heaven?" Cas asked with a steely calm.

"Who do you imagine, Little Brother? It is as it has always been."

From close by came the sound of another explosion like the sudden roar of fire. The sky and the shadows around them burst into splashes of red and orange and yellow. It was weird, Dean thought, how there could be all this fire and ash in the air and for it to feel not even slightly warmer. The rain still fell, ice-cold, against his face.

The angel laughed, an ugly sound that was wet and cruel. "They come for me. You can't fight them. Not here, Castiel. Maybe anywhere else, but not here. You know that."

Somewhere between Cas capturing the angel and the new explosion, Sam had moved back to the end of the alley, peering around the corner.

"Get back here," Dean called. If more angels were coming they needed to stick together, and they needed to think of something _right now_. After all that Cas had been through Dean knew he couldn't fight for long, but that was no excuse to let this prick of an angel insult him.

"He beat you, didn't he?" Dean defended, waving his hand in the direction of the angel's stomach, wet with blood. Castiel's hands and shirt sleeves were red and slick where he pressed his blade deeply into the angel's borrowed body.

Sam arrived at Dean's side. "I can't see anyone," he reported. "Just fire. Everywhere."

The air was heavy with it, making Dean want to cough. It could only be early morning still but the sky was so dark with smoke now it looked like evening.

The captured angel smiled, lifting his chin towards Sam, Cas still keeping one hand covering the angel's eyes. "He can't kill me here."

That made no sense. Dean looked to Cas. "Angel knives kill angels, right?".

"Not in this place," Castiel told him. He sounded careful, like he didn't want to say too much.

"And what place is that?" Dean wanted to know. Seriously, this not-answering crap was freaking annoying. Beside him, Sam shifted nervously.

Cas closed his eyes for a long moment, like he was preparing himself for something really fucking bad, and Dean held his breath, knowing that there was no way he was gonna like this.

Cas's captive interrupted whatever he was going to say with a barked laugh. "Dean Winchester doesn't even know where we are?" he crowed. "Oh, that is _precious_." The angel narrowed its eyes at Cas, looking at him with such loathing that Dean kind of wished Cas would just kill the fucker already. It spat, "You, useless thing. Even you couldn't tell, could you? You had to be told by petty _demons_."

There was a sound like rolling thunder, mixed with the beating of wings. It was close. They didn't have time for this shit. They had to get somewhere safe, and Dean really hoped Cas had some plan about what to do now, because Dean was all out of ideas.

"Cas, we need to-"

Twisting to the side suddenly, their mystery angel howled and screeched in that piercing, painful angel-voice Cas had tried with Dean before they'd met. Dean slapped his hands to his ears, gritting his teeth, feeling the clawing sound in his skull. Sam's face was scrunched up in pain, his grip on the shotgun loosening and the weapon falling to the ground.

It was hard to keep his eyes open, to do anything but hope to hell the noise stopped soon, but Dean saw that the other angel was trying to grasp at Cas's neck, not caring about the sword being driven into him. The sound reached a pitch that made Dean sure his ears were going to explode. Cas drew his blade back, then jammed it upwards through the angel's neck and there was a flash of light so bright Dean had to turn away. Then, there was silence.

For a long minute Dean thought he'd gone deaf, but when he pulled his hands away from his ears sound began slowly filtering in. The thunder, the hiss of rain, his own breathing, fast and uneven in his lungs. Dean felt a warm wetness that could only have been blood against his palms and he straightened carefully, movement sending spikes of pain through his neck and down his back.

The other angel had fallen against the wall in a heap, eyes wide and empty, black shadows like wings burnt into the brick work spreading out from his body. Dean wondered if this was what became of angels when they died. If all that was left was an empty vessel and the imprint of wings.

There was sadness on Cas's face, and exhaustion. He looked up at Dean, and Dean held his gaze, hoping that he could at least give Cas something welcome and familiar. Out of the corner of his eye Dean could see Sam picking himself up off the ground, looking at the blood on his hands with disgust. His ears had bled too.

Shaking his head carefully, trying to clear it, Sam said, "We've gotta go."

The sound was muffled, but the words were clear enough.

Cas nodded too, leaning down and picking up the angel's fallen sword before throwing it over to Dean.

"I thought you said these wouldn't kill here," Dean said, looking at the knife. He'd never really gotten the chance to look at one properly before. It felt weird against his palm; hot and cold at the same time. The blade looked insanely sharp, and the metal of it glinted more like glass than anything silver. It was kind of fascinating.

"He is not dead. There is no death here," Cas reiterated. "He is merely banished."

Cas's eyes scanned the ends of the alleyway before heading in the direction away from where their nameless angel had appeared. "Move," Castiel ordered. "More will come."

Dean wasn't going to argue with that. He followed, Cas setting a fast pace and Sam at his side.

"Banished like demons to Hell?" Dean tried to clarify, because it was always sound strategy to know what you were dealing with.

"No," Castiel, unhelpfully, replied.

They turned right out of the alley and Dean would've felt relieved to be out of the small, confining space except the open streets turned out to be worse. Somewhere in between leaving the hotel and killing an angel the town had become a mess of collapsed buildings, fires and debris. There were no bodies that Dean could see, but Dean could smell burning flesh.

They kept as far to the side of the street as possible, picking their way around wreckage and rubble and the licking flames of fires that burned cold.

"They will still damage you," Cas warned them, and they steered clear.

They took side streets, crossed a parking lot filled with burned out cars. Cas led them through a house only half-standing, out the backdoor that was ripped off its hinges and through what had once been a garden. Now the lawn was brown and crisp like there'd been a long drought.

There were times when Sam had to redirect them around smouldering junk or precarious walkways that Cas didn't seem concerned with, but he wasn't exactly human, even like this. Even when he had to stop to catch breath he didn't need more than once. Cas followed Sam easily enough, but there was a strange look in his eyes like he didn't quite understand why Sam was taking them a different way. It had better not, Dean thought, be distrust. None of them needed that right now.

It felt like they'd been on the run for hours, for fucking _miles_ with the thunder and the sound of wing beats never letting up and always close behind. Dean wondered why they could run now, when Cas had said running was pointless before.

Without warning, Cas stopped abruptly beside what looked like what had once been a bar. He was grimacing like he was in pain and frowning in frustration.

"We can't keep going forever."

Dean had to agree to that. They'd been running around empty streets and it felt like they were getting nowhere, angels still hot on their tail. He leaned his hands on his knees, taking the opportunity to rest.

Then Sam said, "Shit," and Dean jerked up to attention, expecting something to jump out and attack them.

Sam was staring down an alleyway directly across from the bar and Dean could see straight away why Sam sounded wrecked and horrified and his eyes were wide.

About halfway down the alley lay the body of the angel they'd left behind however the fuck long ago it'd been. They'd gone round in a giant freaking circle, even though Dean couldn't remember there being any actual turns.

"Cas," Dean ground out. "What the fuck-"

"We aren't where we started," Cas told them, but Dean wasn't sure he could believe that. They'd hung out in that alley for long enough that he was pretty damn sure it was the same.

Same long, arching crack in the brickwork about a foot in. Same broken up holes in the street. Same dead angel with burnt black wings outstretched behind him.

Sam was still staring at the angel's body warily. "You said he wasn't dead."

"This is just the vessel. An imprint-"

There was a loud shattering sound, cutting Cas off, and the ground beneath them shifted so hard Dean was almost knocked off his feet. The thunder became a roaring in his ears and Dean felt someone pulling him along. He stumbled over the uneven ground, trying to get his shit together. It was Cas hauling him, he realised, and he was dragging Sam too, pushing them into the alley. Back into that fucking alleyway.

Roughly, Cas shoved them away from him and turned, drawing his sword.

Within the blink of an eye they were on him. Three of them, in neat suits and with their own swords flashing dangerously. More dick angels, all looking right at Cas with keen eyes. They were smiling, knowing that Cas couldn't win this.

Sam warned, "Cas-"

"Stay behind me," Cas snapped, not giving any ground even though the three figures closed in on him.

Another blink of an eye and one of the angels had a sword to Cas's throat, another grabbing at his arm from behind. Cas managed to twist out of their grip, stabbing out and catching the angel going for his throat in the thigh. He, or maybe she- Dean couldn't tell- flinched away, but in a second was back in Cas's face and trying to get a hold on his neck.

No way was Dean letting Cas fight alone. He had the angel toothpick and he was going to use it to get the fuckers off Cas.

The third angel, bald and tall and bearing a disturbing similarity to Zachariah, looked like he'd been expecting this because he was standing, arms folded, watching Dean with vague interest.

"Hello, Dean," he said, and it made Dean fucking incensed because that was what Cas said, and Cas was _not like these assholes_.

Dean charged the bastard.

He'd known, even before deciding that attacking an angel was a good idea, that there was no way it was going to work. That the angel would be too strong and too fast. But he'd wanted to give Cas a chance. The odds of two against one were much better than three against one. And Dean had Sam too.

He almost made it to within striking distance before the bald angel flicked his hand and Dean went flying back, landing hard on his side. Pain ripped through his spine and for a moment Dean had to lie still and hope to hell there was no permanent damage.

Dean could hear the angel laughing at him, then Cas shouting, "Banish them, Sam. Banish. Them."

Cas's voice sounded rough and strained.

Then Dean realised what Cas had said and he ignored the way the muscles in his back cramped and pulled as he pushed himself upright, shouting, "Like _hell_!"

At Dean's side in an instant, helping him to stand, Sam called out, "It'll banish you too." As though Cas didn't already know that.

Cas was fighting with all three angels now, desperately trying to keep them at arm's length. They were carving him up slowly. Taking slices of Cas little at a time. He had to be bleeding from at least twenty different places.

"I won't go far," Cas ground out. "Not here. I can't keep fighting."

"We won't _kill_ you," one of the angels was saying. "No, Little Brother. We won't kill you or your human pets."

There was venom in the angel's voice, and a pure maliciousness Dean had only ever heard in demons. It made him sick.

" _Do it_ ," Cas ordered, like he expected Dean to obey, but Sam was already cutting his hand open.

"Sam-" Dean couldn't believe Sam would _agree_ with this.

"We're going to die anyway," Sam said. "Cas said he won't go far."

As shitty plans went, this one found new and insane depths, and Dean watched in horror as Sam began painting the outline of the sigil on the wall beside them.

Seeing what they were planning, the other angels tried to break away from Cas's defence, forcing Cas to up his game in order to keep them engaged. Dean would've been impressed at his speed and skill if he'd had the time. All Dean could see was the growing number of cuts in Cas's shirt -Dean's shirt- and the red bleeding out from them.

"You won't go far?" Dean called. "You're sure? You won't end up somewhere with them? Cas, if you're lying to me, so help me-"

"I _won't_ ," Cas assured them. "Do it _now_."

It wasn't like they had any other choices.

Having finished the pattern, Sam turned to Dean with a questioning look. It made Dean feel like a shit for nodding, hating himself and the angels and the entire fucking universe for leaving him no choice but this.

Already regretting it, knowing there was no way this could end well, Dean watched as Sam slammed his hand against the wall and the sigil burst into light. The other angels had shocked looks on their faces, like they couldn't believe Sam had actually gone and banished them.

Cas just looked relieved.

And then they were gone, and Sam and Dean were standing in an alleyway with the corpse of a vessel and no one else. It was still raining, and Dean imagined he was finally beginning to feel the warmth of fire against his face.


	8. Chapter 8

They ran. What else could they do?

They ran the way Cas had told them to go before the angels had come, even though they'd already been that way. It should have surprised Dean that when they turned the corner out of the alleyway the street looked different, but it didn't. There were still fires, and trashed buildings and abandoned cars, but now thick, thorny bushes grew from cracks in the broken up road. They encroached into the ruined buildings, creeping up walls and what had once been traffic signs. The bushes bore no leaves, just spindly branches that looked dead but Dean could tell were alive. He'd swear they were moving when he looked away.

It made it worse that he and Sam had to touch the things, picking their way through the undergrowth that sprawled across the street, the sharp thorns scratching and biting at their bare skin. They couldn't move fast enough with this crap slowing them down. They'd lost Cas, just when they'd fucking got him back, and they didn't have a damn clue where he was.

"Not far," Dean fumed. "Not fucking far, he said."

"He couldn't know." Sam looked around anxiously. "It's all changed. The whole layout of this town. None of it looks the same."

"I noticed," Dean shot back.

All the side streets were filled with crackling, hissing fires and thick, sharp bushes. There was nowhere Cas could even _be_.

The sounds of other people had been distant before; echoes of yelling and screaming and wailing that reminded Dean of a place and time he'd spent the past two years trying to forget. The noise was getting closer, evidence that somewhere there were other living people in the town that wasn't a town anymore. And there was the uncomfortable, prickling feeling down Dean's back that they were being watched. He'd seen weirder things than to dismiss the possibility that it was the plants around them causing the feeling, sentient and out for blood, but Dean's instincts told him it was humans watching.

Walking beside him, Sam was tense too, the Colt in his hands half-raised. He'd sensed it too, but they hadn't seen a single other soul. In this thick mess of undergrowth, Dean couldn't imagine where the hell anyone could have been hiding.

Above them, the clouds hung thick and dark, unnaturally still like splotches of colour in a photo, a permanent feature of the place. At least the rain had mostly stopped.

Dean's jacket and jeans were still damp, clingy and uncomfortable in the bitter cold air. He was even more convinced now that the temperature was dropping with every step he took. Frost was beginning to form on the tips of bushes, spidery silver threads of ice decorating cracked glass windows and burned out cars. More and more Dean found himself slipping on frozen puddles. As they walked, Sam shifted restlessly, trying to keep himself warm and alert.

Cas hadn't even been wearing a jacket.

It was impossible to tell what time of day it was, and Dean had no way to know how long they'd been looking. His watch was long gone, stopped when he'd dived into that damn river to find Cas the first time around. At least then they'd had a direction, an idea of where to start looking. Now, here, they had nothing.

"Maybe we should turn back," Dean suggested finally, frustrated. "We might've missed something."

Behind them, Dean could hear what sounded like heavy boots running across broken ground. Dean's head whipped around but there was nothing there. Sam had stopped walking, turning in a slow circle, shotgun up. He shook his head, nothing there, but Dean was sure now they were being followed.

Half his attention on their surroundings and half on Dean, Sam began waking again. "There was nowhere he could've been back there, Dean."

Despite what Sam said, they both knew they couldn't be sure that they hadn't gone right past Cas and Dean _hated_ it. They were being surrounded, Dean could _feel_ it, and a growing smell of sulphur that could only have been demons. Dean wanted nothing more than to beat some information out of one of the fuckers. If he found the asshole that had tried drowning Cas he was going to rip it to fucking pieces and Dean was going to damn well enjoy it. If Dean found out anyone had hurt Cas _again_ he was going to make sure the bastards responsible died long and painful deaths. Dean couldn't even bring himself to care how sick that was. He didn't care how hard he'd tried to not be that guy again. To not be someone who craved blood and pain. They were demons and it was Cas and he just _didn't fucking care_.

There was movement stirring all around them in the mess of thorns and bushes that walled them in and Dean couldn't decide if it was the plants shifting or demons moving them, trying to freak them out. It didn't help that the further they walked, the higher the undergrowth grew until some of the bushes became trees, tall and gangly with branches that seemed to be stretching out towards them. The branches were slick with something thick and red.

Movement turned to whispers turned to hissing, like laughter, gurgling, and muffled screams coming from the thick forest of branches. Dean just couldn't _see_ any of it.

"Cas could be in there," Dean realised. " _Cas could be in there_."

"There's nothing-" Sam began, but Dean didn't want to hear it, cutting him off, "How the hell are we gonna find him?"

What were the chances of finding _anything_ in that?

"We'll get him," Sam assured Dean, but he didn't sound exactly convinced either. Unsettled was a better word, eyeing up the creepy plant life on either side of them with wide, worried eyes. "Maybe he can find us."

Yeah, because Cas was gonna be in good enough shape to come looking for them. There was hope though, because Cas had sent them this way and he seemed to know his way around, and that made Dean think. Made Dean wonder. How did Cas know? What kind of a place was this, because it sure as hell wasn't like anywhere on Earth Dean'd ever been? How could they even get out without Cas? Dean had visions of him and Sam wandering forever, lost in this crazy, fucked-up town full of creepy-ass dead plants and buildings so ruined it was impossible to tell whether they'd been shops or houses or whatever before. There was fire still, patches of burning bushes and cars and greater fires in the distance -tall infernos like whole buildings caught alight- pouring out thick black smoke into the dull sky.

Then they came across the first corpse.

It was rotted and torn and must have been there a long while, strung up from one of the trees.

"You think it's a warning?" Sam asked, giving the tree a wide berth. The sweet, putrid smell of death overpowered the stench of ash and the sulphur.

"I think we need to look harder." If there was one thing in his life that Dean never wanted to see, it was Cas hung up like that. It wasn't going to happen, he told himself. Cas could handle himself. They'd find Cas one way or another.

Sam got it because he nodded agreement and moved on quickly.

The next body they came to looked more recently deceased, empty eyes staring out at them sightlessly.

They hurried past it, following the road. Dean was beginning to get the impression they would never actually find a way off it; there were so few turns and they never seemed to get any closer to the fires and the crumbled apartment blocks and anything else in the distance. That landscape beyond the immediate area hadn't changed for as long as they'd been walking this street. It was freaky and it was wrong, but they had no other direction to take but back the way they'd come.

Sam said, "You know what's weird?"

"This whole thing is weird, Sam," Dean retorted. More sounds, like fighting or arguing, came from somewhere to his left and Dean hefted his knife but kept moving forward.

"No," Sam said. "Well, yeah. But I mean, something else. I haven't seen a single animal."

"Animals, Sam?" Dean repeated disbelievingly.

Sam frowned in irritation. "None. Not even a bird or, I don't know, an insect. It's not right."

"Nothing about this place is right," Dean pointed out. Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean, conceding the point, but Dean could tell when his brother had gotten some idea in his head and was working it out.

"What is it?" Dean asked, because if Sam had some clue what Cas and all his cryptic shit meant then it might help work out how to find him and get out of this cursed town, or whatever it was.

Sam gave Dean a long, considering look before he began, "Dean, I'm not sure-"

There was no warning and nothing to explain why at that second maybe a dozen creatures that looked like humans but moved like nothing Dean had ever seen before broke out from the walls of growth around them. Dean didn't know how they'd been able to move through the thick, thorny branches without a scratch on them, but one minute they weren't there and the next there was a burly guy in camo gear clawing at Sam's throat.

Dean dropped his duffel to the ground and drew out the handgun he'd shoved down the back of his trousers, shooting the guy dead centre in the forehead. He went down, and Dean was thankful his bullets actually had effect. Whatever they were, they weren't human.

A woman wearing a short dress and no shoes and red stains splashed across her face ran at Dean with a wicked looking knife and Dean fought her off with a swift kick. She recovered quickly and charged again and this time Dean pulled out his own knife and blocked her with one arm while stabbing down into her chest with the other. He saw surprised, pitch-black eyes blinking back at him. Not exactly a shocker they were demons, but they didn't move like humans- more animal and wild than anything- and the bullets of a regular gun had affected one. Not that Dean was complaining. The normal rules didn't seem to apply in whatever place this was, and Dean took that as encouragement, gunning down two more demons who made a grab for him, and another who was going for Sam.

Dean heard Sam's shotgun fire once, and then again, but couldn't turn to see what was going on because there were more of the bastards headed his way, snapping and biting at his hands. They weren't cautious at all, even though they must have seen the others getting easily taken down. He remembered Cas saying there was no death here, and hoped that even if there wasn't, it would last long enough for him and Sam to get away.

It was damn hard to fire straight when you had demons coming at you from all sides, and Dean took a hard knock to his back where a brute of a man swung a baseball bat at Dean from behind, taking him by surprise. Another, carrying what looked disturbingly like a hatchet, managed to nick Dean's leg and Dean dispatched them both with bullets to their brains. It was deeply satisfying and Dean almost hoped for more. More to kill. More to take out the frustration and the wrongness and the _anger_ on.

Dean's first priority though was to check that Sam was okay, but he could only hear the sounds of fighting, the shotgun again, and then he had to concentrate on a couple of demons trying to wrestle the knife right out of his hands. They weren't as strong as regular demons and Dean managed to turn the knife on one, using all his weight to drive the blade into the fucker's neck. The other he took out with a knee to the gut and a shot to the chest. Free for a few seconds from attack, Dean took the chance to breathe, trying to catch his breath. There were definitely less of them now, not like the police station, where the demons had been fucking endless. Their numbers were dwindling, and Dean was pretty sure the demons knew it too because their attacks weren't quite so confident as they had been. One creature in the shape of a woman took to throwing large rocks at Dean, one of them managing to knock Dean's shoulder so hard he was thrown back, hard, against the frozen ground. He felt busted up concrete against his back and had to kick off a crazed demon with wild hair and little in the way of clothing before being able to fire. The bitch fell where she stood, but another demon rushed Dean from the side, kicking the gun away before punching him full in the face.

The blow was powerful, knocking the sense right out of Dean and for a long minute he couldn't concentrate, couldn't see straight. It was hard to get his head to move to find out where his opponent had gone and what he was doing. He couldn't get his legs to kick out, or his arms to find the ground to try pushing himself upright or away, and Dean came to the conclusion that he was helpless and he was going to fucking _die_.

The killing blow never came though, instead there was Sam at his side, hauling Dean up by the elbow, saying, "Come on Dean," and, "We're getting out of here." Where exactly Sam thought they could go Dean had no idea.

It was so damn _freezing_. Dean's muscles were heavy and aching with it, and when Dean could finally get his head back in the game, when he could see where they were, it was snowing.

"Wonderful."

"It's better than rain," Sam said. He was still mostly carrying Dean, as well as his duffel -Dean's lost somewhere back on the road- but he was moving swiftly past trees and those ugly, evil-looking bushes. There were bodies on the ground, half-covered by snow. Nothing like a little horror as an incentive to keep going. To go _faster_.

The sounds of crying and anger and laughter were louder now, all around them, the forest receding the further they walked to reveal a street wider than it'd been before, still lined with the wreckage of buildings, but now there were people. More and more people. Some were gathered in groups on street corners, or huddled alone against the frames of buildings, or stripping bark from the trunks of the creepy-ass trees and sucking at the sap, or whatever, and Dean really didn't want to know. Most of them were focused on fighting or arguing or killing and ripping at each other. It was absolute anarchy.

Sam steered them around the fights, trying to keep to the shadows, and it was really damn good to finally have wall at their backs, even if it was half blown away and crumbling and slimy to the touch.

"Jesus Christ," Dean breathed. "Cas-"

"Yeah," Sam said tensely. "I know."

Because if he was here, and he had better fucking be, Dean damn well hoped he hadn't gotten involved in any battles with demons.

They had to be demons. The way they sliced each other up and snarled and the eyes on some of them turned black. And an angel among this crowd could not be any kind of good.

"We've got to find him."

Sam studied the lone creatures they passed, how they hunched up on themselves, murmuring and sneering at anything that came near. "We could... ask? Some of these... But if they don't know Cas is here then I don't wanna tell them."

Dean couldn't fault the logic in that. They'd only make things worse.

"We could try a summoning?" Dean suggested.

Sam didn't look impressed. "I don't know any of those for angels, do you?"

At the word 'angels' a few of the demons nearest them looked around, their eyes narrowing.

"Okay, let's shut up," Dean hissed at Sam, and let Sam lead them away quickly. For the most part the demons were ignoring them, concerned with their own shit but it was damn hard to think when all Dean could hear was agony and skin tearing and bones breaking and it was all too sickeningly familiar. Outnumbered by all these demons and no escape and it was like Dean's worst nightmare all over again.

They walked in silence, following the widening street because that's what Cas had said to do. There were clear paths off the road now, but it felt dangerous, wrong to change directions.

The snow was falling more heavily here and Dean zipped up his jacket, wishing he could rub his hands together. After the fight, Sam had retrieved Dean's gun and knife and there was no way Dean was letting go of his weapons again. Not with so many demons around them. He kept the handgun loose in his right hand, and the knife close in his pocket and remembered that being cold was way better than being dead.

In places the snow lay heavy on the ground, untouched, and in others it was soaked red or turned to a brown slush where feet had trampled through it. The snow didn't seem to affect the demons at all, unconcerned with how little or how much clothing they were wearing, or with how the snow got in their eyes or piled up around them and Dean hated them for it all.

Beside him, Sam was thinking again. Dean could tell by the way he furrowed his brow and his eyes stopped tracking the movements of the creatures they passed. Dean hoped to God he had something, because he was freezing to death and starting to feel hopeless and useless and like if he had to pass one more shredded corpse he was going to kill every single one of these demon assholes.

"Spit it out, Sam," Dean demanded, impatient and seriously unhappy by how _not nearby_ Cas had been banished.

"I was thinking," Sam began.

"I got that, yeah."

Sam shot Dean a foul look. "I was thinking we walked a long way with Cas after he killed that first angel, and we ended up back where we started. But it wasn't where we started."

Dean looked around, at the collapsed buildings, at the messed-up sidewalk, at the distant, familiar landmarks that never got any closer. Even when the road had been a forest of thick undergrowth the fires still burned and the ruin of the landscape beyond the immediate area remained unchanged. Different, but the same.

"You think we'll end up back there."

"The body of that other angel was still in the alleyway before," Sam reminded Dean.

"So that's where he'll be."

"Nearby." Sam huffed a laugh and shrugged. "He wasn't lying."

Dean was going to kick Cas's angelic ass. "He'd better be there."

It was just a theory, but it was a lot like the first hope Dean had felt since Sam had banished Cas. Something, finally, that might even be right.

***

What was probably night had fallen by the time Sam and Dean found the alleyway. The world had turned dark and dangerous, full of scheming red eyes that watched them pass and screams and cries that came from nowhere. Dean had lost count of how many demons they'd fought off. All his instincts told Dean to kill as many of the sons of bitches as he could get his hands on, but there were too many, and he and Sam had something more important to do so they kept a low profile, picking their way around the edges of the road.

Inside the shells of buildings demons gathered in groups, pressed close together. Maybe they felt the cold after all.

It was still snowing, heavy and quiet. There were no streetlights, but the fires cast a creepy orange glow over the town enough that Dean could see by. The minimal light was useful when they were jumped by over-confident demons who bit and spat at them like they were mad with rage. They were easy enough to kill, but Dean was getting tired, and he was hungry and thirsty and his muscles were cramped and aching in the frigid air. From the way Sam's pace slowed Dean knew his brother was feeling it too.

They searched and searched and Dean worried that he'd never be able to recognise the alleyway they were looking for. All the side streets looked the same, ground white with snow and some still bordered with spindly branches creeping up the sides of walls. Sometimes there were demons. Sometimes there were corpses. None of the streets looked like they went anywhere, ending in dark, uninviting shadows. There was no way they could check them all, so Dean tried to look for anything familiar, except pretty much _everything_ was. All the same -ruins and snow and crazed demons and blood- and no sign of Cas.

No way Dean was going to leave Cas here, in this. No way was he leaving Cas anywhere else ever again. Dean knew he shouldn't be thinking about it, he knew that it hadn't been him, not really. But when he remembered the warmth and the welcome and the hardness of Cas's body, it helped, just a little, to keep going. It helped him not give up and lie down in the street and curl up and wait for some demon to tear his lungs out. It helped to keep Dean warm against the ice cold water on his face and in his hair and sliding down his back, making Dean shiver. It helped him concentrate when all Dean wanted was to sleep, or even just to _rest_. To stop walking for five freaking minutes. He was going to have the worst fucking blisters ever and Dean didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing that his feet were so frozen he couldn't feel them anymore.

He remembered every touch and sigh, and Dean wondered if Cas did too. He wondered what Cas thought of it. Human sex. Human lust. Dean.

And then Sam stopped.

"That," he said, pointing at some burned out shop front across the street. "I recognise that."

Dean thought it looked like everything else; used and destroyed, but Sam looked excited in the firelight.

"You're sure?" Dean asked, not wanting to get his hopes up, except where it was too late, and God, fuck, he needed Cas to be there.

Sam nodded, "Yeah," and moved cautiously towards the next break in the buildings, where the alley would be.

A group of maybe eight demons sat hunched around a fire near the opening, and for the first time in that fucked up world, Dean was glad for the dark. Unless, Dean considered, the demons could see just as well in the dark as they could in the light, or better. Then it was all kind of pointless. But whatever, the darkness at least made Dean _feel_ less exposed.

The demons were noisy, jeering and hissing in a way that wasn't even vaguely human. It seemed like the further they went, the more twisted and broken and animal the creatures became. Here they were chewing on something, and Dean didn't want to know what.

They kept their backs close to what was left of the building at the turn, and when they came to the corner Sam arched his neck around it, looking into the side street. It drove Dean crazy that he couldn't see, but he didn't dare move away, around Sam, to see. They were on the edge of the firelight as it was, the demons preoccupied with their meal and each other. That could easily change.

After a moment, Sam flattened himself back against the wall beside Dean, and Dean held his breath, wanting to hear and not wanting to hear when he whispered, "He's there," and Dean really didn't know how the fuck to feel about that. Sam was tense beside him. Something was wrong.

"He wasn't moving," Sam said tightly, then quickly added. "I couldn't see clearly."

Cas was not dead. Cas was _not fucking dead_.

"Come on," Sam urged, and pulled at Dean's elbow, urging him to keep low as they edged their way around the corner of the wall.

It took all Dean's self-control to go slowly, to not try and shove Sam out of the way so he could see for himself. And when he was finally in a position to get a look at Cas he really wished he hadn't.

Cas lay motionless, pale as the snow he was half-buried under, his back leaning against the wall on the other side of the alleyway. His legs were stretched out in front of him and his hands fell limp at his sides. Around him there were no wings burnt into the wall or the street, and Dean clung to that. There was no death here, Cas had said, and Dean was going to hope that applied to idiot angels as well.

Sam shot Dean a worried look before pushing himself away from the wall and sprinting the short distance across the alleyway to Cas's side. It was easy to look away from Cas, to not have to see him lying as still as the dead. Instead, Dean concentrated his attention on the demons, making sure they didn't notice Sam's movements. Dean could see from where he crouched against the alley wall that they were preoccupied with some kind of game. Whatever it was it had the demons squealing and goading and Dean wished there was something more than just shadows between them.

He kept his eyes on the demon group when he crossed to the alley to join Sam, crouching down on the other side of Cas. Sam had his fingers against Cas's throat and Dean felt a cold empty calm that was worse than anger. It was cruel, deliberate rage, slow burning and just waiting for some outlet. It hadn't even been fucking demons who had done this. It had been angels, Cas's own _brothers_ , and Dean swore if Cas wasn't okay he was going to find a way to kill every last one of the assholes.

Then Sam's shoulders sagged in what looked like relief. "He's alive. Shit. He's _alive_." Sam spoke under his breath, more to himself than to Dean, but it was enough confirmation for Dean to lean his shoulder against the wall and just breathe. He could look down. He could look down and know that Cas was still there.

"Cas," Sam was saying, brushing snow off of Cas's shoulders and arms. Off of the thin shirt he was wearing. Dean's shirt. "Wake up."

With Sam's back to the demons, Dean didn't want to look away from the crowd for long, but he had to be sure. He had to see for himself that for once, just for _once_ , someone that Dean maybe kind of liked hadn't gone and died on him.

And when Dean found Cas's calm, unflinching gaze watching him, Dean wanted to kiss the angel bastard right then and there, in an alleyway in fuck-knew-where with his brother watching and a pack of flesh-eating demons ten feet away and Dean just _didn't care_.

Cas looked like crap. If it wasn't for the way Dean could feel Cas shivering against him, or his half-opened eyes, there really would be no way to tell he was still alive.

His voice was so quiet, Dean almost didn't hear when Cas greeted them, "Hello, Dean. Sam."

Dean would've liked to call him an asshole and a fucking bastard, but Cas looked bad enough that Dean thought he should cut him a little slack. Also, demons.

"Hey Cas." Sam gave Cas a smile, pulling off his jacket. "Keep an eye on the demons," he told Dean in a low voice.

No matter how much Dean might want to keep right on staring at Cas for fucking _ever_ , they still needed to get out of there and preferably in one piece. So Dean nodded and sat up straight, looking past his brother and Cas towards the gathered group and their fire. If they'd noticed anything happening in the alley they weren't showing it. They were loud, some kind of argument having broken out, and Dean was damn glad for it.

Out the corner of his eye, Dean could see Sam trying to wrap Cas up in his coat. Cas's movements were stiff and uncoordinated, but he looked kind of amused when Sam zipped the coat right up to his neck and pulled the cuffs of the arms down over his hands. Cas was swamped by Sam's jacket and Dean had to admit, it looked pretty ridiculous.

"We need to get moving," Sam was telling Cas. There was only so long they could stay hidden, and if he and Sam had to carry Cas, it was going to be really damned difficult to get away without being noticed.

Cas's voice was so quiet when he spoke it made Dean worry that just moving him would be too much. "We can go the other way."

Cas rolled his head to his left, away from the demons. Dean didn't dare look, but he couldn't remember seeing anything other than darkness at the far end of the alleyway.

"You sure?" Sam asked, looking dubious.

They'd been travelling along the same road for so long now it seemed wrong to move away from it, like if they veered off course they'd be heading into even more chaos, never to find their way back. Off of the road they'd heard a lot of disturbing shit. Fires raged there, and despite the rain and the snow and the passing hours they never died down.

"I am sure," Castiel insisted. "I know this way."

It sounded like the kind surety you get when you'd been somewhere before. There wasn't time to demand an explanation though, and Sam had already pulled Cas's arm around his shoulder and was levering them both to standing.

Dean moved carefully, quietly, raising his handgun and keeping it trained on the demons.

Cas stumbled, his legs probably not strong enough to hold him up after sitting for so long in the cold. It had to hurt but he didn't make a sound. Sam kept a tight hold, pulling him up with one arm around his waist, and managed to get Cas shuffling down the alley, feet dragging through the untouched snow.

Dean moved out of the way towards the centre of the street, letting them pass before following after them. He walked backwards slowly, placing his feet carefully to avoid tripping.

They passed the body of the angel Cas had interrogated all those hours ago, mostly buried under snow. Dean could still make out the black wings staining the wall and sprawled across the ground.

The further from the demons they moved, the darker it became, turning to an unnatural pitch-blackness. There wasn't even firelight here. It was freaky how Dean could see the alley in front of him, but nothing around him, like he was outside the world looking in. Like where he was standing nothing existed. He couldn't see the walls that should have been on either side of them, and the ground beneath him was an unbroken slick, black surface. There was no snow here, but it was even colder. The demons' shouts and cries were muffled, and Dean was starting to think that this was a mistake. That Cas had been wrong.

Then he felt a hand on his elbow, and heard Cas say, still quiet but clear and unconcerned, "Stay close."

Really not going to be an issue, Dean thought. No way was he letting Cas and Sam go anywhere without him in this absolute emptiness. He felt like if he even looked away they'd disappear and he'd be left alone without a clue where he was going, lost forever in nothing.

Cas said, "They won't see us here." He was pulling Dean closer, tugging on his sleeve like he wanted Dean to face away from the demons and into the darkness.

"This is fucked up," Dean murmured. He half-turned away, not quite able to bring himself to turn his back on the demons, but he pocketed his handgun in favour of slipping an arm around Cas's back, helping Sam keep him up. Cas was still damn heavy.

In this place, he could see Sam and he could see Cas, but it was like nothing else around them even existed.

"Which way?" Sam sounded freaked out, and he shot Dean a worried look.

Cas steered them to their left, and he at least, seemed sure.

"This way," he told them. "We can rest near here."

"In this?" Not that Dean minded getting away from the endless snow and blood and violence and demons and unchanging backdrop, but this emptiness was almost worse.

"In this," Cas affirmed. He sounded stronger, at least, and he was walking better, no longer falling over his own feet every other step. He was still shivering though, and his skin had taken on an unhealthy ice-blue tinge again. "It is safer here than anywhere else."

"Sounds like you've been here before," Sam said, echoing Dean's suspicions.

There was a long pause before Cas replied, "Yes. I have."

"Right." Didn't look like Sam wanted to push any more than Dean did. He had a feeling neither of them actually wanted to know where they were anymore.

Instead, Sam commented, "You stayed in that alleyway all that time, and those demons didn't notice you were there."

Cas pulled himself up straighter between Sam and Dean. "I, as you say, played dead."

"Yeah," Dean said unhappily. "You had us fooled too."

"Why'd you stay there?" Sam shook his head, sounding about as pleased with Cas's corpse-act as Dean felt. "You were freezing to death, Cas."

"I knew you would come eventually," Cas said. "It would have been very difficult to find each other otherwise."

It was logic Dean couldn't really argue with.

For what felt like a long time they walked with Cas between them in silence until Cas lightly gripped Dean's shoulder where he was hanging onto him. "We should stop here for a while," he said.

There was nothing around them, or above them, or under them. Not even stars. It was just an all-enveloping darkness just beyond his perception that made Dean feel trapped. Suffocated. There was no way he was ever going to be able to rest in this.

Cas was sagging though, like he'd run out of energy. "It's safe, Dean," Cas assured him. "Or at least, more so than any other place we'll find. You both must also rest."

Which was more true than Dean wanted to admit. It wasn't like either he or Sam were firing on all thrusters either.

Sam was already lowering Cas to the ground that wasn't there, leaning him against a wall that Dean couldn't see.

"You're okay with this?" Dean asked Sam, incredulous.

Sam shrugged and didn't look up at Dean. "We need sleep. Better here than with demons trying to murder us every time we stop."

"How'd you know there aren't any of the evil fuckers in here?"

Cas looked Dean in the eyes and held his gaze and Christ but Dean had missed that. "There aren't."

Dean stared right back at Cas. There was no reason for him to lie, and when it came down to it, this was about trust. He'd have to believe that Cas wouldn't fuck with them. Not here. Not about this. And Dean did. He really did. He trusted his life with Cas. He trusted _Sam's_ life with Cas.

No demons then.

It was still freaking cold though. The air was completely still, tasted and smelled stale, but it was dry. Without the distraction of movement Dean was beginning to feel exactly how uncomfortable his sopping shoes and the bottoms of his jeans were. How his muscles ached and the skin on his face felt pulled tight and sore.

"I dunno about you, but I'm stopping," Sam announced, and slid gratefully down to the not-ground next to Cas.

"You should have your jacket back," Cas said. He looked wistful. "I wish I had my coat."

Sam huffed a laugh. "Sorry we left it behind. Keep the jacket. You need it more than me." He looked up at Dean. "Sit down, you idiot."

It wouldn't hurt, he guessed, and Cas definitely needed it, shivering so fiercely in Sam's jacket that Dean could see the movement from where he was standing, his teeth chattering. There were purple and blue marks on his face, ugly bruises that Dean couldn't remember seeing before.

Sam had already closed his eyes, leaning his head back against some invisible structure. Dean guessed he should keep watch while they rested regardless of Cas's assurances. No one was infallible.

He lowered himself carefully, stiffly, to sit on the other side of Cas, feeling his muscles cramp and burn. If nothing else, he could warm Cas up a little like they had before-except with clothes this time- so Dean shifted himself close and stretched an arm around Cas's shoulders.

No one was ever going to get Dean to admit how awesome it felt when Cas leaned in to Dean's side. Cas was just looking for warmth, Dean told himself, nothing else.

"Where'd you get those," Dean asked, lifting his hand to hover close to Cas's cheek, not wanting to hurt him.

"The angels," Cas replied.

"It's been hours," Dean said. "You're not healing at all."

Castiel's silence was answer enough to that.

"I'm gonna sleep." Sam spoke awkwardly into the silence, opening his eyes and giving Dean a significant look over the top of Cas's head that Dean took to mean, _Leave him the hell alone, you asshole_.

His brother shuffled closer, and Dean tightened his hold on Cas, keeping his mouth shut.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean wasn't sure what woke him.

For one thing, Dean hadn't meant to sleep. He'd had his gun in his hand and he was keeping watch. It was unforgivably sloppy and downright dangerous to fall asleep on the job. He really must have been a hell of a lot more tired than he'd realised. It only made it slightly better that Dean could hear Sam and Cas talking in soft voices. At least they hadn't been left unprotected while Dean slacked off.

Waking up was painful, every aching inch by aching inch of his body making itself known. His neck was bent at an uncomfortable angle, pillowed on what felt a lot like a bony shoulder. Cas's. It felt warm under Dean's cheek. At least Cas had managed to unfreeze a little.

Cas was speaking, and Dean could feel every word of it as Cas shifted and breathed next to him. Dean was weirdly reluctant to open his eyes, even though he knew they needed to move; to find a way out. To get back to real air and humans and sounds that weren't crying in fear and pain. To smell something other than blood and death and fire.

"We've all been here before," Cas said softly. Sadly.

There was silence for a long time, and Dean was confused as hell because he was sure he would remember if he'd ever had the misfortune to be somewhere as insane and disturbing as this.

Then Sam said, "I don't remember," and he said it in that flat, almost fearful way he talked about not remembering Hell.

"I know." Cas sounded sure. "It is, perhaps, better that way."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, but didn't sound convinced. Maybe it would be worse, Dean thought, to not know what you'd done in that place.

He felt like he was missing something in their conversation though; some important clue that he should recognise. Something deep in him told Dean he knew, and he'd known for a while now, what was going on here.

Against him, Cas shifted, maybe getting more comfortable, or maybe trying to get closer. Dean could feel Cas's fingers against his knee and his head resting against Dean's and he wondered at how Sam wasn't laughing at him for this very obvious intimacy he had going on with Cas. Maybe it was just that, in this place, any kindness, any goodness at all, was so rare it just wasn't funny anymore.

He waited, keeping his body relaxed, feigning sleep and not sure why he was even doing it. If it was any other time Dean was sure he would just ask what they were talking about, but Dean had the weird suspicion that they wouldn't tell him, like how Cas still hadn't told him straight out where they were.

"Dean," Cas said finally. "You can stop pretending." Not all out of angel juice then. Or maybe Dean had given himself away somehow. Cas had always watched Dean so closely that he wouldn't put it past the creepy stalker part of Cas to know every gesture, to recognise every change in Dean's body.

No point in hiding it. "I'm resting. Eyes closed and everything."

Sam snorted. "You just want to hear me and Cas talking about you. Too late, we covered that an hour ago."

Dean opened his eyes to glare at Sam, gritty and itching and still tired. "They'd better have been nice."

"Of course," Cas said fondly, and Dean couldn't help but wonder if Cas could be all about the passion and the lust without some freaky outside influence. He hadn't regretted it, Cas'd said, but that didn't mean he ever wanted it again. And that had been a long time ago, before the river and the demons and the other angels. But after everything, Cas didn't seem to care that Dean had leaned right into his space. That Dean was practically breathing down his neck.

It was like some weird torture, to have Cas so close.

Reluctantly, Dean raised his head, feeling the muscles in his stiff neck pulling painfully. While he'd been sleeping, Dean's arm had slipped from around Cas's shoulders and had become trapped between Cas's back and the non-existent wall. It was warm, tingly from being trapped and Dean wondered how long he'd slept for. Dean left his arm against Cas's back.

He was still wearing Sam's jacket and he wasn't shivering anymore.

"So what's the plan?" Dean asked.

There was still a whole lot of nothing around them. No sound and no light and no movement of air and now that Dean thought about it, it made no sense how he could even see Cas and Sam when there was no kind of light source.

"We get out of here," Sam answered, like it was going to be that simple.

"I know the way." Cas was frowning though and Dean thought, yeah, really not that easy.

"Just like that, huh?"

"No." Cas looked at Sam, before turning back to Dean. "Before the end, it will be difficult. We will likely have to face-"

"Things we really don't want to," Sam cut in.

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam because, way to be obvious. Sam just shrugged.

So, hiding shit from him then. Not that that was anything new but Dean thought they'd gotten over all this. Dean would like to think there was some good reason for it, to trust them both, but it was really damn hard.

"Let's get this over with," Dean said dismissively. He looked Cas over, the bruises still vivid across his face and neck, his eyes dark and tired. "You good to walk?"

"I am."

To prove the point, Cas pushed himself up to standing. He wasn't exactly stable, but he was upright and a whole lot more alive-looking than he'd been when they'd found him in the alley. He turned and reached his hand out to help Dean up.

As much as Cas looked like he'd have a hard time picking up a shotgun, let alone taking Dean's weight, Dean still found himself taking Cas's hand. And he was a hell of a lot stronger than Dean had expected, pulling Dean to his feet almost easily. It was too easy to forget that Cas didn't work like humans, and that his angel powers were affected seemingly at random.

There was a soft, almost amused look on Cas's face. It was good to see that after everything that had happened Cas could still look at Dean like that.

With a heavy sigh, Sam got his tall ass to standing, mumbling something that sounded a whole lot like, "don't mind me," and "angel crush," and "need to get a room."

Cas either hadn't heard or was ignoring the comments, because he turned to Sam, saying, "Thank you, Sam," and began to unzip the jacket.

Sam stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "We're going back out in the snow, right? Keep it."

Cas looked unsure for a second, like he was thinking about arguing, but Sam put on his stern face so Cas, angel or not, had little choice but to nod and agree. Sam had always been a stubborn bastard. And Dean could understand his insistence. As strong as Cas was, he still wasn't exactly at his best. His face was a sickly pale and he held himself stiffly like it hurt to stand. They would have to steer clear of as many demons as they could.

"Will they recognise you?" Dean asked, suddenly realising that keeping away from demons might not be as easy as it had been for him and Sam.

Cas looked down at himself. "Like this, I don't believe so."

"Right," Dean said. He checked his handgun anyway, made sure the knife was still in his jeans and easy to grab. Sam was checking his own weapons. The shotgun was gone, but he still had a hunting knife, half a bottle of holy water and the Colt.

"I don't have many more shots left," he said.

"Then we try to not need to shoot anything." Dean tilted his head towards Cas, and Sam seemed to get the message because he agreed, "Got it," and stayed close to Cas's side.

"Lead the way then." Dean waved his hand at the darkness surrounding them.

It was disorienting, and Dean would never have been able to say which way they'd come from, but Cas sounded confident when he indicated to their left and began walking, telling them, "It is this way."

Cas moved slowly, and Dean couldn't work out if it was caution or Cas being exhausted. It wasn't like Dean's half-frozen limbs wanted to move very fast either. It was just so damn _cold_.

They kept Cas between them as he led the way through the darkness. Dean could feel them occasionally changing direction. He knew, through some instinctive sense, that there were walls and edges and dead-ends to this world, but Cas guided him and Sam around them, and Dean only twice touched something solid that wasn't there. It was cold under his fingers, like a dry ice block that felt charged and alive. Dean was glad he didn't have to feel his way around the place. It made his bare skin prickle and sting unpleasantly. Dean wondered what Cas could see. He wondered if everything looked different to him. If, to his eyes, Dean looked like Dean would see himself in the mirror, or if he saw his soul, or just a blob of flesh. He wondered if Cas even saw colours, light, shape the same way humans did. Castiel the angel wasn't a physical thing, as far as Dean knew, so how did he understand all that texture and touch? How had Dean's hands on his skin felt? What was the taste of Dean's mouth on his? What had he felt when he'd come?

And Dean needed to stop thinking about... that. So not the right time.

Instead, Dean tried concentrating on the way Cas watched the darkness, cautious but unafraid and all the time looking for something.

Occasionally, they passed points of light that Dean thought might be ways back into the other world; paths like the one they'd followed to arrive in this space in the first place. Cas, Dean suspected, was looking for a particular one.

It didn't take long before he found it, spilling light into the dark as they drew close. Beyond it was an unfamiliar street in what definitely didn't look like Spring Green, Wisconsin anymore. As they passed through, it wasn't so much a doorway as one minute nothing and the next a dirt track with ruins encroaching in on either side. No sidewalk. No concrete. These buildings were much older too, unrecognisable as to what they'd once been. They didn't look like much more than piles of grey, crumbling rocks heaped on top of each other, sometimes getting as far as the beginnings of a second floor.

Crossing the boundary was like resurfacing after being underwater for a long time. Sound rushed back, loud after nothing but their own voices. Dean had almost forgotten what it sounded like to hear your own breathing, what it sounded like when your feet hit the ground. He felt the icy wind stinging at his face and hands. The glare of actual, visible light made his eyes ache even though Dean knew it was dim, the sky a red-streaked dull grey. The worst thing though was the smell. It was a mix between burning tyres and rotting trash and it was almost bad enough to make Dean gag. He covered his nose with his arm, and beside him Sam put his hand over his nose. Cas didn't even seem to notice. Trash littered the street, clogging up open gutters that Dean refused to inspect too closely. He gladly followed Cas's faster pace as he turned right and out of the street, hoping the smell would get better.

It didn't.

Wherever they'd ended up was filled with talking, incomprehensible but filling the air, grating on Dean's teeth. He couldn't explain why he hated the sound so much, but it got into his head and under his nails and he wanted it to stop.

Figures gathered in groups among the debris and the dirt, huddled together in close groups, arguing and speaking fast, but there were nowhere near enough of them to account for the noise. They didn't even look up from their conversations when Dean, Sam and Cas passed them. Dean kept his hand rested on the grip of his gun anyway.

In a low voice, Cas told them, "They are no threat to us."

Dean could believe it too. These people, or demons, or whatever they were, moved slowly, listlessly, like they'd forgotten how. They looked sickly, deformed and wasted away, not much concerned about anything other than talking to each other. Talking all over each other.

It could drive you mad, Dean thought.

Cas led them quickly along narrow streets, turning twice to come out onto a wider road bracketed on either side by frontings that resembled some gothic theme park rather than a small town in the middle of Wisconsin. Beyond their doorways the buildings looked mostly burned out or collapsed in on themselves. There were people in there, and more corpses and that was really not helping with the stench.

The road they were following started angling downwards, increasingly steep, until Dean had a better view of what was in front of them. The tall, distant buildings of the town were gone, replaced by fields of ruins, some set alight and burning steadily and some filled with bones and withered, hollow tree stumps. For the first time Dean wondered if he was seeing what had really been there all along. The world seemed to end suddenly beyond the ruins, and Dean guessed it was some steep cliff face falling away to God only knew where. Something told Dean he didn't want to find out.

Rising out of the drop a long way away there were mountains again, a thick fog hanging over them. None of it made much sense, and Dean couldn't be sure of what he was seeing. Something about it all seemed familiar to Dean, some sick, buried part of him that he didn't want to remember. He pushed away the familiarity, not letting himself even consider it. Dean looked away.

Cas was moving faster than Dean would've given him credit for, given the beating he'd taken and the way he still buried his head in the neck of Sam's over-sized coat. He'd pulled his hands up into the sleeves, keeping his arms wrapped around his body.

There was no snow here, but there was ice, frozen, foul water shaped into sharp points hanging from fallen girders and doorframes. They had to have been there a long time. Forever, it looked like.

None of them spoke. There was enough talking around them. It irritated Dean, set him on edge, but at least no one approached them.

"Don't stop," was all Cas said, more to Sam than anything, which kind of pissed Dean off, but he was willing to let it go. Like he always let shit go. It wasn't the time to get into a bitch fight anyway.

In any case, the walking kept Dean warm. Sort of. It got harder, the pace and the cold eating at his strength and Dean was just glad they were going downhill and not up.

They passed an area devoid of anything except for three tall stones half buried in dry dirt, and they passed a fire licking its way through a low structure that could once have been anything. The raging fire gave off no heat and made no sound. They smelled burning flesh and moved on quickly.

Further along the road, or what Dean was generously calling a road even though it was unpaved and a mess of people and trash and debris, they passed a row of more or less complete buildings that made Dean pause.

"We can't stop here," Cas said urgently, tugging at Dean's sleeve.

It wasn't just that these buildings were actually intact, Dean realised, but it was that he _knew_ them. He knew them and Dean's eyes widened and suddenly he felt like he couldn't breathe and Cas was saying, "Dean, we must move on," and Dean realised exactly fucking what Sam and Cas had been hiding from him. What he'd been hiding from himself.

It wasn't true, he told himself. It couldn't be. Sam was here. _Cas_ was here.

No way was it true.

But for years and years he'd known this place. There was no denying it. No hiding from it when he was standing right here, staring right at it. The pathway was bordered by the grey skeletons of two long-dead elm trees, leading to a plain, square doorway made of black stone. He'd walked this path. He'd passed through the doorway, and there was _no way_ this was happening.

He couldn't stop himself from moving towards it, needing to see that it _wasn't_ the same place. That this was some fucking twisted joke. It was a coincidence. _He wasn't here_.

Cas gripped his shoulder and insisted, " _Please_ , Dean."

Not, _it's nothing_. Not, _what are you doing?_ Cas was begging him not to look and that was pretty fucking damning.

Dean shook off Cas's hand and pushed his brother out of the way when he tried to stop him.

Even knowing what was coming when he walked through the doorway into that room, there was nothing that could ever have prepared Dean for seeing it again. Everything, exactly as he remembered it.

The taste of copper on his tongue, the lingering fear, the acrid smells of blood and rot and death. The walls still painted red and black, not much light, but enough to see by, and the floor... oh fuck the floor.

Some of him was probably down there, ground into the stones by thousands of feet. His feet. Alistair's feet.

Bile rose in his throat and it was all Dean could do not to puke.

He shook his head, and tried to breathe, his vision kind of crazy and grey and unfocused.

In front of him was the table- the rack- where he'd spent forty years of his death. There was no mistaking it. Everything about the place crawled under his skin, his fingers itching to slice and rip and tear, the memory of laughter- _his laughter_ \- in every damn stain and every sharpened blade hanging from the walls. Well-used and still edged with blood and bone and Dean couldn't do anything but stand there and remember what he'd been. Everything he'd done.

All along, Dean knew, he'd known where he was. From the icy cold to the demons, to the red-hot rage that had boiled through him. He'd known they were in Hell, and Cas had known, and somehow even Sam knew and the assholes hadn't said anything.

They'd stood there and they'd let him believe they were someplace else and Dean couldn't turn around and face them. Right then, he hated them and he wanted to hurt them. He _could_ hurt them. Dean knew so very many ways. In this place, it would be easy. It would be _so easy_.

He loved them, and he hated them, and Dean had no fucking idea who he was or what he was supposed to do.

***

There was once a man- or maybe he was a demon- who liked nothing more than to cause pain.

He laughed as his subjects were brought through the doorway, terrified and suddenly repentant, begging for their lives and their limbs and promising power and money and affection and bribes that meant nothing. Most of them didn't even realise where they were.

The man learned many things and many secrets.

He learned a thousand ways to make a human scream. He loved to hear it, and was happy in his work.

As far as the man knew, he had not existed before coming to the room in which he worked, day in and day out, tearing out lungs and burning feet and carefully sewing hot coals into stomachs. He didn't care. He was satisfied with all that he had.

He could have gone on like that for all of eternity, and that would have been fine with the man, except that one day an angel came to his room. He was bright and sure and he looked at the man with pity and regret. The man thought how he should like to take the angel's wings, vast and strong and arching, and tear out each of the bones one at a time. Then he would look at its face and see if it still looked at him with such compassion.

The angel reminded him of his brother and his life before and how, once, he'd fought to keep strangers safe from beings like him; creatures that revelled in the agony and the despair of others.

"This isn't you," the angel had said, and Dean had hated him.

***

The next time Dean looked around him and saw anything other than red and black and faceless nightmares, he was outside. He couldn't remember getting there, but he was grateful for the bite of the cold wind against his face and the gravelled ground under his knees. He looked at Cas and Sam, crouched down in front of him, and concentrated on them, trying to ignore their surroundings.

They were both silent, hovering close but not touching. Dean couldn't decide if he wanted them there or he wanted them to fuck off.

It was easier to talk than Dean thought it would be, his hate and his anger at being lied to and being here and what he had once been spilling over. "You didn't tell me," Dean accused. "You let me find out for my fucking self. In _there_."

At least they hadn't left him there, Dean thought. They'd seen it all- the blood and the mess and the rack and the blades- and they hadn't left him to rot in that room, even though he deserved to.

Dean tried to calm himself down because the fury in him, how it tightened his chest and made him want to fucking _hurt_ Cas and Sam, was something he had no right to feel. Something he wanted more than anything _not_ to feel.

Except where they'd both _fucking lied_.

"You shouldn't have had to see that," Cas said, infuriatingly gentle.

Dean gritted his teeth. "Yeah, you should've _told me_."

Cas never took his eyes off Dean, but he reached out, resting his fingers lightly on the back of Dean's hand. "Before the demons at the river I didn't realise myself. Believe that I would never have brought you here had I known." Cas paused and looked pained. "I should have known." And Dean thought, yeah, you should've.

"Then after that?"

"You wouldn't have believed it."

Dean pulled his hand away, tucked his hands under his armpits and ignored the way Cas frowned and straightened.

It was true and Dean knew it. Even after seeing the proof for himself he didn't want to believe that he was back in Hell. And worse, that he was back in Hell with Sam and Cas.

Dean remembered how Cas had said he'd been there before. He remembered him talking to Sam and telling him they'd _all_ been there before.

It was difficult to think so close to the room and all the horrors it had brought back with it, like all that torture and cruelty and pain and suffering had happened only yesterday. Was still happening. But if Dean really thought about it, if he let himself, he realised he'd seen Hell in the police station, in the demons, in the violence and the ruined town and the eyes of the people in it.

Crap, but he'd seen it in the lust and the rage in himself. He'd recognised it all, because he'd been here before.

Cas was still staring right at Dean, and Dean wondered how he could do that when he'd seen what Dean was capable of. But then, Cas had seen Dean before in Hell, and yet somehow had never turned away from him, or looked at him in disgust. The idiot still reached out and wanted to touch him, after everything.

"Then all of that," Dean said. "All of that crap was-"

"Lust, addiction, greed, wrath, heresy, violence." Cas sighed, sounding tired and worn and Dean couldn't blame him for it. "Yes, all of it."

"Lust," Dean repeated. "Shit. I had sex with an angel in Hell. That is fucked up, Cas."

"And I had sex with a human," Cas replied, actually shrugging. "I will say it again, Dean. I don't regret that."

Dean wanted to argue that it hadn't been real, and that Cas would never have done that on Earth, without Hell filling them with desire and want and need. But Cas had never seemed at all concerned by what they'd done. Not in a way like the sex hadn't meant anything to him, that it was just a physical act and nothing more, but more like he hadn't minded doing it because he had been with Dean.

When Cas'd been out of it and shivering and still mostly drowned he'd grabbed at Dean's arms and held on. He'd put his head on Dean's shoulder in the dark nothing and he'd slept. Cas had tried to reach out to Dean just a minute ago, outside a room where he'd tortured thousands of souls and enjoyed it.

Maybe, Dean wanted to ask, they could try having sex again, when they were out of Hell. Just to be sure.

But Sam was giving Dean a look like he had no clue what to do, and there was still that fucking room, somewhere behind him, and this really wasn't the time or the place to be picking up angels. If he didn't think about it, it was okay. If he didn't think about it, he could try and forget again.

He still felt sick to his stomach, so Dean did what he always did; he concentrated on keeping what he cared about safe. On keeping alive. "So we're out of here, right?"

"I can lead us, yes," Cas began.

Dean watched as Cas's eyes slid away, looking somewhere over Dean's shoulder. "You don't sound so sure about that."

"Last time I could fly. I don't have much… left." Cas's eyes glanced upwards and he pressed his lips together. "I know the way, in theory."

"In theory," Dean repeated, because it was safer than asking what Cas didn't have much left of. He really wished Cas would look at him, but he was focused on something else, his eyes following some movement behind Dean that he didn't want to turn and see. He didn't want to deal with more demons. He just wanted Cas to stare at him, give him all this attention, because that was familiar, something Dean knew how to deal with. Something good in his life that he could focus on.

It was getting dark again, Dean noticed. Colder. Dean wondered how long they'd been in Hell. Somewhere along the line he'd lost all sense of time, and then he remembered, oh yeah, months here were minutes out in the real world. Of all people, he should know that.

Sam spoke up, and like Cas he was following the movement of something behind Dean's back. "We should go."

Cas nodded once, and Sam was drawing the Colt from the back of his jeans, so Dean took a steadying breath because in this place there was no getting away from his nightmares. He'd have to man up and deal with it. But Cas stopped him as he turned to look, hand gripped tightly around Dean's arm.

"Don't," he instructed, pulling Dean to his feet.

"What-" Dean tried to ask, but Cas cut him off with the obvious, "Demons."

Beside him Sam was backing away, keeping the Colt trained on something that Dean, apparently, wasn't allowed to look at. This time, Dean decided, he'd trust them on this and he didn't fight Cas's unyielding hold on his arm, leading him away.

"Should we run?" Sam asked in a low voice.

"No." Cas moved quickly though, following a path that headed downwards, not letting go of Dean. The buildings were beginning to thin out, opening up to grey fields of stone that looked sharp enough to split skin. Dean remembered the cool feel of it under his fingers as he scraped rough-edged rocks across human backs and faces.

It was hard to miss the fact that they were drawing closer and closer to the limits of the town's landscape that Dean had seen from a distance earlier, and fuck but that felt like days ago now. As they neared the edge, Dean could see the cliff edge was part of an enormous round basin, cut deep, with steep bare stone sides.

Whatever it was Cas and Sam were watching so closely and so warily, Dean could hear it now. He couldn't get how he'd managed to miss it before. He was putting it down to temporary insanity. Maybe denial.

There had to be a lot of them, with the noise they were making, and Dean could tell they were getting steadily closer. Dean heard the clanking of knives and weapons and the scuffing of feet against the gravelly trail. He heard them laughing and screeching and hissing and throwing insults.

They knew what Cas was, he got that much. They threatened to rip off his wings and they threatened to peel off his skin and they promised to do a whole lot of other things Dean wanted to kill them for even _thinking_ about. Dean's hand tightened around the knife still in his belt, but Cas squeezed his arm not-so-gently and Dean got the message to let it go.

This was Hell, and they were outnumbered, and the aim here was to survive.

Then one of the demons called, "We'll cut out your grace, pretty angel. We'll rip open your chest and we'll break every one of your ribs, just like your Dean Winchester taught us to do."

Dean stopped walking, and wouldn't let Cas pull him any further.

"Dean," he urged, but didn't tell Dean it wasn't true. Didn't tell him to ignore it. Because it was _fucking true_.

In that instant Dean knew why Cas hadn't let him look. Why Cas was hurrying them on without letting Dean look back; because he was afraid that Dean would recognise them. Because Dean had been the one who had _fucking made them_. How could he ever ignore that? How could he ever let that go?

Cas argued, "This serves no purpose. They're lost."

"And who made them like that?" Dean shot back bitterly.

Cas didn't try to stop him again when Dean turned to face them. Demons that had once been humans. Demons that had been humans before Dean fucking Winchester had turned them with knives and saws and burning oil and every other fucked up torture method that had ever existed. So yeah, he recognised them.

"Dean," Sam tried. "We can't fight them all."

There were too many to count, streaming down from the town towards them.

How had he not heard the sound of it? How had he not been able to _tell_?

"They want revenge," Dean said, having no fucking idea how he could make this right. He'd done this to them and nothing would ever undo that. "They deserve revenge."

He stood and watched them approach and saw their scars and their mutilated bodies. Some of them were barely more than bones, hollowed out and empty with cruel, vicious eyes. They hadn't been like that before.

They looked at Dean and they grinned.

"Dean, this won't help," Cas tried again. "They will kill us all. They will tear us all to pieces. There is no death here and we will be remade so that they can do it to us all over again."

"I know," Dean said. It was weird, but he couldn't get his mind to think past standing here and waiting.

Cas's grip on Dean's arm was back, so strong it felt like the bone might actually break. "They will do this to _us_ ," he hissed. "Sam and I will not leave you. They will break us all and we will become nothing but demons. _This isn't you_."

Dean remembered another time Cas- Castiel- had said that to him. It had made him pause even back then. Now he knew Cas, and kind of liked him, and wanted to keep him and it made Dean turn and look at him. It made him remember that he had things to do. Things to live for.

He didn't know why he said it, but he told Cas, "You'd never be a demon."

Cas shook his head sadly. "I'd be the worst of all."

Dean turned his head to look at Sam, who was waiting anxiously. His brother and Cas stood at his side and if there was one thing Dean did it was protect what was his.

"Are we going?" Sam looked right back at Dean, not afraid of him. Not looking at him with disgust or mistrust or horror, but with a fuck load of concern. Dean nodded and Sam visibly relaxed, offering Dean a quick relieved smile before turning back to Cas. "Please tell me you know a way out of this, Cas," Sam said.

"There is one way," Cas told them and began moving again, turning Dean away from the demons and pulling. His pace wasn't quite a run but the demons were gaining on them and Dean was a fucking idiot for thinking that letting them all get ripped up was any kind of good plan.

Sam stayed close, not firing- trying to conserve what little ammo they had left Dean guessed- but Dean could see he was itching to kill some of the fuckers.

God, it hurt so much to know that this was what Dean had created, but he had to get Cas and Sam away. Neither of them deserved to be in Hell. And Cas's hand still gripped Dean's arm almost painfully tight. Not letting go any time soon.

It was weird how slowly the demons moved towards them. It would have been easy for so many to overpower the three of them. Maybe they were savouring their revenge, taking the same delight in new blood Dean once had. Making them nervous, fearful, in anticipation of an attack.

They spread out along the cliff edge, cutting off any escape route, not that there was anywhere to go.

Back the way they'd come was a town full of demons and damned souls, and in front of them was a canyon that could be bottomless for all Dean knew. Dean couldn't work out why exactly Cas seemed intent on marching them to the edge of it.

Neither could Sam. "Cas," his brother said uncertainly. "I hope you know what you're doing."

The three of them faced towards the horde of demons, almost out of land to run away on. Almost out of time before the demons would be able to reach them with their blades and their bludgeons.

"We have little choice in which way we must go," Cas replied shortly, dragging Dean right up to edge. It was even steeper than Dean had thought, with wicked-looking sharp rocks puncturing the slope, plummeting down a long way into nothing but darkness. It didn't look inviting, and Dean didn't like to think what was beyond the shadows that seemed to blanket the entire expanse of the chasm.

Sam came to a halt beside him, the back of his shoes scraping over the ledge.

"I'm not gonna like this, am I?" Sam looked behind him, then back at Cas. The demons were closing in, their insults and taunts and screaming making it hard to hear anything else now.

"No", Cas announced, "Now we must pass through treachery," and then he pushed Dean right over the edge.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean was sure he'd hit every single rock and stone as he tumbled down the slope. It fucking _hurt_.

The ground levelled out, the rock and stone turning to a smooth, cold surface, and Dean finally, _finally_ came to a stop. Every part of him ached and stung, and Dean lay on the ground for a long minute just breathing and trying to get his head together. Remembering where he was, Dean forced his eyes open, checking there was no immediate threat, making sure his knife was still there. He needed to find Sam and Cas.

It was dark, which wasn't entirely surprising considering how far he'd fallen, and that it had already been getting towards night back in the town. If you could call it a town. If there even was anything like night-time in Hell.

He was aware of gravel and stones still sliding down the slope somewhere behind him. Dean hoped that had been Sam and Cas and not any of the demons following them down.

 _Cas_. The fucker.

It was difficult to see much of anything in the gloom, and Dean slipped on the smooth surface beneath him as he tried to push himself upright; ice, he realised. The cold bite of it crept through his jeans and his hands where he kneeled.

Getting his feet under him, Dean made his way carefully along the base of the slope, where stone met ice. He didn't have to go far until he could make out his brother's huge body, all sprawled limbs and hair, not too far away. Sam was moving carefully, groaning softly as he sat up, rubbing dust out of his eyes. Dean almost called out Sam's name in relief.

Close to Sam lay a shape wearing Sam's jacket and jeans that were too big for him that could only be Cas. Dean could just about make out his slow movements.

The bastard had thrown him over a fucking cliff and Dean could feel every damn bruise and cut he'd suffered on his way down. Cas had better have a damn good reason.

Crouching down beside Sam, Dean asked, "You okay? Did Cas push you over too?" Because if he had, Dean was not going to be pleased.

"Yeah," Sam told him, then at seeing Dean's furious expression added quickly, "One of the demons took a swipe at me. He kinda saved me from getting gutted." Sam shrugged and waved Dean away towards Cas. "Check on him."

Dean had to half-slide the short distance between them.

"The fuck was that?" he demanded. His voice echoed, loud and threatening in the dark and the cold. Dean lowered his voice. "You could have fucking killed us!"

Cas sat up straight, a hand to his head. It wasn't so dark that Dean couldn't see the way Cas's eyes didn't quite focus when he tried to do his staring thing. Asshole. How was Dean supposed to shout at him when he'd gone and gotten his head split open. There was blood on Cas's fingers where he was pressing against his temple. "There was no time," Cas said. He didn't sound out of it or confused or anything so Dean was hopeful it was nothing serious. Not like there was much they could do if it was. "We were being... herded."

"And you didn't think to warn me?" Dean knelt down next to Cas, annoyed, and knocked the idiot angel's hands out of the way. The cut on his head looked deep. Dean pressed the sleeve of his shirt hard against it and Cas hissed and tried to squirm away. "Stop complaining. This'll stop the bleeding. It's your own damn fault for throwing yourself down here anyway."

From somewhere nearby, Sam snorted, "Say it how it is, Dean."

"I told you, there was no time. And I have told you, there is no death here."

"Yeah," Dean sneered. "No death. Just eternal pain and suffering and... fuck."

It wasn't good to think about it too much. It wasn't good to remember, but it was damn hard not to when they were still so close to that room. To where Dean had spent forty years doing nothing but dying over and over, and then when he couldn't take it any more, killing others with a slow, torturous ruthlessness. But brooding about it didn't help them, and it made no difference how sick and angry it made Dean; he couldn't change what he'd done and what he'd turned those people into.

Dean felt Cas's fingers squeezing tightly around his wrist. "Whatever you did to them was done to you first."

"That doesn't make it okay," Dean argued.

"No," Cas agreed. "It doesn't."

Dean was glad Cas hadn't tried to excuse it, or deny it. That would have been so, so much worse. Dean just nodded, not really sure what for, but it seemed the thing to do.

Sam had pushed himself over to sit beside them, his long legs crossed awkwardly.

"I'm glad I don't remember when I was here," he offered, quiet but clear. Sam didn't try to hug Dean or anything, but he was close and he was alive and mostly undamaged and that was enough for Dean.

"I'm glad you don't, too," Dean agreed, and Cas nodded, and Dean realised, yeah, he had two people to take care of and crying like a bitch because he was back in Hell was not going to get them out of this. Focusing on their immediate problems, Dean shook his head and looked at the wound on Cas's forehead under his sleeve. It was still bleeding, but Cas's eyes were sharper and more focused.

"So," Dean sat up straight, trying to shake off the conversation, shifting to try and get some feeling back into his legs. Fucking ice. "You got us down here to stop us being herded somewhere. Who's doing the herding?"

Cas grimaced, and Dean didn't know if it was from his injured head or because of the question. "I can't be sure, and I don't know what purpose it serves to bring us here, but the angels-"

Dean interrupted, "The ones who tried to kill you?"

Cas nodded, "They follow Michael. I can only imagine he seeks to escape."

"Michael," Dean spat. He looked over at Sam, who was looking right back, his face both angry and worried.

"This isn't good," Sam said.

"No," Cas agreed.

When he didn't elaborate, Dean suggested, "So we keep away from Michael. Go around him."

"That would be preferable," Cas said, but he looked away, his eyes watching something in the gloom beyond what Dean could make out. The movement dislodged Dean's hand where it was pressing down against Cas's temple.

There was no fire here, and very little light, and all Dean could see was the slope behind them inclining upwards, gradually at first and then more sharply, its stone grey and washed-out red in the dimness. It seemed to fade away maybe fifteen or twenty feet up, the air above them a thick, unnatural blackness, swallowing light and stone and air, confining. There was no wind, and very little sound except where they breathed and spoke and Sam's feet scraped stones against the ground. The smooth ice beneath them extended out into the darkness ahead of them. Dean could see his breath misting from his nose and his mouth, his lungs feeling the cold so bad it almost hurt, and getting worse with every minute they sat still. He and Sam wouldn't survive long like this, and Dean could even feel Cas shivering beside him. He was frowning, not liking what he was seeing.

"What is it?" Dean prompted, reaching up and getting a hold of Cas's chin, turning Cas's head back towards him.

Cas stared thoughtfully at Dean for a long minute, coming to some decision, before he admitted, "I'm not sure it's possible to pass through this place without meeting him." Cas glanced at Sam. "And Lucifer."

"Shit." Dean should've known it could only get worse. They had to be in the deepest part of Hell. Where else would Lucifer and Michael be?

"So pushing me down here helped not at all," Dean sniped. He was weirdly pleased when Cas threw him a pissy look.

"I don't know yet, if doing that made a difference."

"It made a difference to my neck."

Sam smacked Dean on the shoulder. "Leave him alone. It wasn't like there was time for a debate."

"Yeah, fine." Dean found himself smiling, because it was kind of cool that even in the depths of Hell Sam was still a fussy little girl.

His legs were cramping, and Cas was beginning to get restless. Time to move on.

"I guess there won't just be an exit sign to follow," Dean said. "You know the way through here?"

Cas shook his head, and Dean wasn't surprised. "No. I have never been to these depths."

"Then what?"

Cas let out a long breath like he was irritated, and put his hands on Dean's shoulders, using Dean to steady himself as he stood up.

"Hell is an idea," he explained. "We have to go through to get out. This is its logic."

"So we cut straight across," Sam suggested, standing up and rubbing at his legs.

Dean looked at the darkness in front of them and really didn't like that idea at all. Neither did Cas, apparently, because he shook his head, wincing. At least the cut on his head wasn't bleeding anymore. "It is unwise," Cas said. "That way leads to Michael and Lucifer, who will be at the very centre."

"Then we try and find a way around." Standing beside Cas, Dean watched as Sam's eyes scanned the landscape around them. There wasn't much to see, but it wasn't like before, when they'd been in that whole lot of nothing. This was the type of darkness you got late at night, with no moonlight and no streetlamps. It tinged Cas and Sam in weird blues and greys, and made the icy ground look like polished black stone. It was creepy, and almost silent, every move they made loud and echoing back at them.

"It might be impossible." Cas didn't look happy about it, or at all confident. "But I can try to force a way."

Sam's head turned to Cas sharply. "Force?"

"If there is no other option, I might be able to influence the path." Cas hunched his shoulders, his chin disappearing into Sam's jacket, and wrapped his arms around his chest.

"None of us are gonna last long in this temperature anyway," Dean pointed out. "And don't tell me there's no death here again, Cas," he added quickly. "I got it. I still don't want to freeze. We need to get moving."

"Then we go this way." Cas pointed away from them, not quite toward the centre and Dean wondered if Cas could see a path, or a way through. It seemed weird how they only kept going deeper and deeper when they wanted out, but Dean trusted that Cas knew what he was doing. Or at least could see more than either he or Sam could. As if Cas understood Dean's apprehension, he said, "The point at which we can find a path out of this place is close by now."

It made no sense, but then Hell didn't rely on things like logic or science or reason. It was all chaos and insanity and hatred, and with a vaguely ill feeling because there was no way this could ever go right for them- Dean started walking.

***

At first, Dean thought they were alone. He'd thought this deepest pit of Hell was devoid of anything except Michael and Lucifer, trapped at the very centre of an en empty, endless sheet of ice.

It took a long while for Dean to notice there were human souls here too. An embarrassing amount of time that Dean was putting down to exhaustion and the cold and the lack of light. And to the fact that his whole body pulled and ached with every step he took. He didn't know how long the three of them had been walking, and Dean wondered what Cas's definition of "close" was.

They walked mostly in silence, unwilling to hear their voices echoed back at them, but in the grave quiet Dean could hear Sam's teeth chattering. It worried him, and not just because they were literally freezing to death, but also because there was no way he or Sam had the coordination necessary to get their weapons out and ready in time if anything came for them. Dean doubted he could even get his fingers to bend enough to grip his knife anymore. It had gotten so cold Dean could feel ice heavy on his eyelashes, biting at his lips and the tips of his fingers and his toes.

The three of them kept close together, watching the shadows and letting Cas lead them across the smooth ice, trying desperately not to slip. It was only when Dean tripped over something underfoot that he looked down and saw exactly what he'd been walking over.

Human eyes stared up at him, conscious and watching, some hateful and some resigned and some blank. Bodies, packed together and frozen- but not frozen solid- in the ice.

Dean had stumbled over a shoulder, a patch of bare skin protruding out of the ice.

"The traitorous," Castiel said, voice low, disdainful. For a long moment, Cas looked down at the masses of Damned souls with something like regret, before taking hold of Dean's arm and pulling him along at a quicker pace. Beside them, Sam struggled to stay upright.

"Cas," Dean frowned.

If anything, Cas sped up. "We can't stay here much longer. We're too close to the centre."

"Where Michael and Lucifer are locked up," Sam said.

"Yes." Cas looked at Sam, his eyes narrowing. "It would not be wise to get close to them. They still have power here."

Sam's eyes widened. "I wasn't-"

"Yes, you were. You want to know how you escaped. Talking to them is not the way."

Dean stared at his brother, stunned. "Really Sam?"

"It crossed my mind."

"We will find another way," Castiel said, and it sounded like a promise.

Beneath their feet, more and more body parts stuck out of the ice the further they went; hands, heads, feet. It was gross and it was cruel and Dean was just glad he couldn't hear them. Cas didn't let go of Dean's arm.

The flat ice turned to jagged edges, sharp as knives and cutting the Damned beneath the surface in half, in thirds, in a hundred different places. There was blood, under the ice, and in the dull light it looked like black oil spread across glass. Hands grasped at them, the mouths of the imprisoned souls opening and closing like they were screaming but there was no sound. Their eyes, hundreds and hundreds of eyes, followed them. It was seriously the creepiest thing Dean had ever seen. He tried to step around them, avoiding touching them. Sam was doing the same, moving cautiously, trying not fall on the uneven surface. Dean didn't want to find out if those trapped souls could drag them down too.

None of the hands reached for Cas.

Obstacles became treacherous pits and Dean was starting to think he couldn't take much more, climbing now over steep inclines and sliding crazily down rough, icy slopes dotted with rocks that looked like they'd once been humans, and everywhere the grasping hands and biting mouths.

Cas leaned towards Dean's ear then and whispered, as though just saying it aloud would jinx it, "We shouldn't be far."

Shouldn't be.

There were just so many things in Dean's life that shouldn't be.

Cas being this close to him wasn't one of them.

A little way ahead, Sam was peering into the distance, like he was trying to see something. He looked confused.

"What is it?" Cas asked.

Sam didn't look at them, instead turning his head further away. "Don't you hear that?"

Dean stopped and listened, but all he could hear was his own heavy breath, his pounding heart, and the soft rustle of Cas beside him. "I don't hear anything."

"I know that voice," Sam said, and without warning struck out in a different direction, moving quickly.

"Sam!" Cas called, "You mustn't stray from the path!"

Not that Dean had seen any kind of path, but he was willing to go with Cas on this one; there was something definitely not right with how Sam had taken off on his own. He didn't even pause when Cas called his name again.

"Something's wrong," Cas said. His lips were drawn into a thin line, looking towards the way they'd been headed, and then turning to where Sam was rushing away. He was far enough already that he was almost completely swallowed by the darkness.

"We have to follow him." Not for anything was Dean going to lose sight of Sam in freaking Hell.

"Yes," Cas agreed, and they turned off whatever path Cas had been following and hurried to catch up to Sam. It was a whole lot more treacherous away from Cas's route, half-buried bodies packed more closely together, the ice forming sharp-edged outcroppings and stalagmites reaching upwards, reflecting everything around them like cut-glass, jagged and split. Letting Cas help him over wide fissures and around narrow recesses, Dean could see close up how pinched and disquieted Cas looked.

A little way off, Sam had come to a stop, looking down at something.

Urgently, Cas called again, "Sam," and the sound reverberated loudly off of nothing. Cas strode recklessly the rest of the way to Sam's side, dragging Dean along behind him. "Don't speak to anything here," he ordered.

Sam was staring down at a face, trapped in the ice up to its chin. Dean recognised that it was a woman, with black hair splayed out behind her, frozen and unmoving. Her eyes were a bright grey, looking pleadingly up at Sam. And Sam was looking right back, his face set in shocked horror.

"It's Ruby," he said, his voice hoarse. "She's Ruby."

It didn't look like either of the Rubys Dean'd seen, but maybe this was the original, what Ruby had looked like when she was alive and human. She looked so damn _young_.

Dean didn't know what to feel about this. The anger and hate he held for the demon bitch was still raw, and Dean wasn't sure there could ever be anything else after what she'd done. It was kind of sickening how _glad_ Dean was to see her punished like this.

Her mouth was moving, saying something that Dean couldn't hear, but he could see her lips forming Sam's name.

Dean grabbed at Sam's arm, yanking him away. "We're going, Sam." He wasn't about to let his brother listen to her crap again, especially not here. Not ever.

If Sam was annoyed at being manhandled he didn't say anything, just looked back at what he thought was Ruby with an unreadable expression.

"She's saying it wasn't-"

Dean didn't want to hear it. "She's lying." He shot Cas a look, and Cas took Sam's other arm, began leading him back the way they'd come.

"Don't listen, Sam," Cas told him. "Hell is full of lies."

"She said she didn't betray me," Sam said, but he was frowning, unsure.

Cas replied, "You know she did."

Sam nodded, but his expression was confused, maybe dazed. "How could I ever think she hadn't? I never thought that."

"It's this place," Cas explained, and whether it was true or not Dean was going to believe it, because Dean could not even begin to think about Sam trusting Ruby again after everything. The anger of it burned his stomach and he gripped Sam's arm more tightly.

Sam didn't say anything else and he didn't try to pull away or free himself. He kept his eyes turned down, watching his feet as they stepped over the bodies of other souls. Dean wondered what they'd done to get here; who they'd fucked over. More than ever, more than anything, Dean wanted to be out of here, away from the cold and the way Cas stumbled clumsily, grimacing, and the memories and the endless, hopeless dark.

Suddenly, Cas came to a stop, turning his head like he was listening, and Dean thought they were going to have to stage an intervention for him too, except then he said, "I can hear the ice cracking."

For a moment Dean couldn't hear anything different, and thought that maybe Hell was making Cas paranoid. Not that he could blame him. Then he heard it; at first a quiet ripping sound, getting louder and louder until it sounded like gun shots, right next to his ears, over and over and all around them.

Dean looked down at his feet, saw hairline fractures spreading out across the ground. "The ice," he realised.

"This way," Cas ordered, already breaking into a run, headed in some direction Dean was fairly sure they hadn't been before, but seriously, everything looked the same and it was impossible to know for sure.

Sam took off after him and Dean followed behind, trying not to think about what he was running over when his feet landed on something soft. It was fucking hard to stay upright, and Sam slipped and skidded sideways down a sharp incline, letting out an alarmed cry. Cas was at his side in an instant, steadying him. It was kind of strange to look at, with Cas being so much shorter than Sam, looking like a hobo in his borrowed jacket and jeans.

They ran, following Cas as he weaved around the bodies and over the growing cracks and fissures splitting open all around them, the sound of it turning deafening. Weirdly, the ground underneath them was becoming increasingly flat, making it a lot easier to keep up with Cas. Dean didn't have a clue how someone with such short legs, who'd been drowned, beaten and stabbed managed to move so fast.

Dean's heart was beating like crazy from fear and from the sprint, and it was hard to get enough air into his lungs when it was so damn cold. At least he could feel his feet again, hitting the hard ice, weighed down by his heavy boots. His fingers stung, and his muscles burned with the exertion and then, suddenly, the sound just stopped.

Cas ground to a halt, looking around anxiously, into the distant darkness. Coming to a stop beside him, nearly slipping over, Dean tried to follow his gaze, tried to make out whatever Cas was looking for. But there was only the same rising and falling expanse of ice stretching out around them.

Cas took a step back, and it looked involuntary, like he was recoiling from something. Something that could not be good.

"This is wrong." Castiel's voice was barely loud enough to hear, and not quite as calm as usual, but determined and maybe a little angry. "We have been _led_."

Dean had a pretty good idea where to.

"Can we go back?" Dean suggested. "Go around?"

"Be quiet," Cas hissed, frustrated. "No. _No_."

Cas's eyes fell to the ground a few feet from where he stood, following some line there that Dean couldn't. When Sam tried to step forward, Cas shot out an arm across his chest to hold him back.

Sam looked to Cas, shifting anxiously, keeping his voice low. "What is it?"

Instead of replying, Cas pushed them back a little before motioning for them to follow, eyes not looking away from the ground. Dean didn't think it was the twisted, wasted souls under the ice here Cas was watching with such careful focus. Somehow, Dean knew these buried creatures has been there a long, long time, their eyes sharp and full of malice, their faces grey as stone.

Dean had to look away.

"Cas," Dean prompted, pissed that he couldn't see what Cas was seeing, and feeling useless for it. He felt the wrongness in the air, and the sour taste of sulphur on his tongue, and knew instinctively this was not a good place to be. It was Hell, yes, so nowhere was, but this was more than that.

Sam had taken out the Colt and was holding the grip tightly, pointed down but ready. It would do very little if death really did mean nothing down here, but Dean couldn't begrudge him keeping a weapon close.

"This is the cage, as you call it," Cas said eventually, pointing to his right, to where his gaze had been focused.

The Colt would be even more useless if they came across Lucifer or Michael.

Dean noticed Sam's eyes searching the area Cas had pointed to. He wanted to ask questions, Dean could tell. And hell, Dean wanted to know too; if Sam had been in there. How he'd gotten out.

Instead, Dean said, "Doesn't look much like a cage."

"Do you imagine that bars could keep Michael and Lucifer imprisoned?"

Dean would swear he could hear how unimpressed Castiel was, like Dean should know better.

"The ice is embedded with sigils which keep them contained."

"We're going around?" Sam asked, looking back at the route they'd taken. "It's a big area."

"Of course. The combined glory of the two most powerful archangels of all couldn't be contained in anything less."

Which brought up something that made Dean uneasy as crap. "Where are they?"

"Near," Cas replied. "Which is why we must stop talking and _hurry_."

Dean would've asked if Cas could be more damn specific, but Cas was already nervous enough, pulling and pushing Dean and Sam whenever they slowed, or deviated even slightly from whatever route Cas was following. He let it go, feeling the sense of urgency, his skin prickling in a way that wasn't from the cold, but more like from electricity in the air, all threatening potential. The icy cold was settling back into his bones after so much running, deeper than before. Around them, light was spilling out across the ice, turning the world a really weird purple, like dawn but all wrong. Above them the sky was still a wall of black.

It was Sam who stopped first, and couldn't be moved even when Cas pulled at his arm.

There was panic on Sam's face when he told them, "I can't lift my feet."

Cas crouched down, put his hands to the ice, then to Sam's feet, pulling back as soon as his fingers touched Sam's shoes like he'd been burned. He tried getting a hold of Sam's ankles, gritting his teeth and tugging upwards.

"What is it?" Sam demanded.

"The hell is going on?" Dean ground out, yanking on Sam's legs until his brother cried out in pain. Yeah, they were stuck solid.

Cas's head shot up, and all he managed to say was, "Lucifer," before he was thrown back by some invisible power, tossed like he weighed nothing. He hit the ground so hard Dean could hear the crack of ice underneath him and the snapping of bone. If they weren't in Hell, and Cas weren't already weakened, Dean would've been sure Cas could heal himself. But here, Cas let out a pained gasp and didn't get up.

Before Dean could even ask if Cas was okay, or go to him, Lucifer was there.

He stood a few feet away, his long arms crossed over his chest, watching them with an amused look. He wore the familiar shape of the guy he'd possessed on Earth, when he'd been trying to get all up inside of Sam.

"Having some problems?" he asked airily.

Dean stood upright, facing him. "Are you doing this?"

Lucifer grinned, and it didn't look human. "I don't want Sam to leave again," Lucifer said. "You should come over here and stop me."

"Don't," Cas called out.

When Dean looked over, he could see that Cas's right arm was bent at an awkward angle. Definitely broken. Cas was using his other arm to lever himself to standing. "You must not break the boundary."

"You really are annoying, Castiel," Lucifer sighed, extending his hand towards Cas. There was another sickening snap and Cas cried out, doubling over and clutching his chest.

Behind Dean, Sam shouted, "Cas!" at the same time Dean started moving towards him.

"Ah, ah," Lucifer warned. "You move any further, Dean, and I'll break some more of his very fragile human bones." Dean stopped in his tracks, wanting to go over and snap some of Lucifer's own fucking bones, but Castiel met Dean's eyes- in pain, yes, but still focused- and shook his head.

"What did you do, you son of a bitch?" Sam demanded. From the way Sam struggled and twisted around, he was still trying to escape whatever was holding him down. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" Lucifer repeated, then laughed. "Oh, Sam. You know exactly what I want. It's why you're back here."

"Why I'm-"

"Now, now, Sam." Lucifer stalked closer, stopping and leaning back from what Dean guessed was the barrier of his prison. "No need to keep pretending. You've done your job perfectly. You should be proud."

"I haven't-" Sam denied. Lucifer looked very sure and very satisfied in a way that made Dean sick. There was always one more trick with him. One more way to fuck over Dean Winchester and the world.

"You have," another voice cut in. A voice that Dean recognised. Sometimes, he really fucking hated being right. When he'd thought shit couldn't get much worse, it had.

From the shadows, another figure emerged.

Adam.

He stood with his arms held loosely at his side, eyes flicking between Dean and Sam with a look of pure venom.

As if he'd read his mind, Cas told them, "He's not your brother. Adam's soul is not in this place."

Small comfort.

"How else do you think you got out of here, Sam?" Lucifer asked, ignoring Cas. "You didn't wonder how you knew your way around? How you knew where you were going? You led Dean right here. You've been leading him here since you crossed into Hell."

"Cas brought us here," Dean pointed out, not believing it, but at the same time finding it hard to forget how Sam had always been in front, as they'd wandered the streets of what they'd thought was Spring Green, Wisconsin, showing them the way.

"We had to get you to the gates, and so Castiel brought you, following my angels," Michael dismissed.

Lucifer and Michael, Dean noticed, where doing a pretty good job of ignoring each other, like they didn't exist. They stood a long way apart, faces angled away from even having to look directly at each other. They might be working together, but there was pretty obviously no love lost between them. Maybe Dean could find a way to _use_ that animosity. Cas was hurt, Sam was stuck, and Dean didn't know what he could do to get them all away when Lucifer and Michael had so much power, even here, where they were supposed to be imprisoned.

"Don't be too hard on our little brother, Dean," Lucifer was saying, his smile ugly. " _Your_ brother told all those nasty demons where to find him and how to kill him." Lucifer frowned at Castiel. "You weren't supposed to survive that."

Sam's denial was immediate, sounding horrified, insistent. "I didn't-" He looked between them. "Dean, Cas, you have to believe me. I didn't know. I don't _remember_."

Quietly, Dean heard Cas say, "I believe you."

No way had Sam betrayed them. No way. He wasn't buying it either. The idea of Sam setting those asshole demons on Cas was just not something Dean was even going to _think_. Sam had known where to find Cas. He'd gotten in a bed half-naked with the dude. Lucifer might have manipulated him, nothing new there. And maybe Sam had led them here, but it also meant- if Cas was right- he'd led them pretty much to the exit too.

Lucifer didn't seem to care what any of them thought, clapping his hands together and announcing, "As much fun as this little revelation has been, it's time for us to come to the point." He looked right at Dean, eyes cold with malice and disgust. It was everything that Cas's stare wasn't. "Let us out, Dean Winchester."

"Err, no." Dean couldn't believe Lucifer would ever believe it was going to be that easy. And then there was Michael. "So, what? You and Michael are all made up now and you're going to go off and be best bros together?"

"No, Dean," Lucifer said condescendingly. "You're going to let us out of here so we can all go back to what we were doing before you two idiots trapped us down here."

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"That's how it's meant to be," Lucifer sneered. And then Dean really wished he hadn't asked, because Lucifer turned to Cas, speaking, slow and steady, in a language that sounded neither human nor angel. The closest Dean could think was of gnashing and spitting, and with every fucking word Cas cried out in what sounded like agony, his whole body shaking. Michael watched with indifference.

Dean could see fire at Cas's back, and he could hear hissing. He could smell burning flesh and something like rubber or hair.

His wings, Dean realised. Holy shit, _his wings_. "Stop!" Dean shouted, as Cas clawed at his own shoulders, trying to reach his back. "Fucking _stop it_. He's your brother!"

Sam was shouting too, but Dean couldn't tell what he was saying. He couldn't take his eyes off Cas's face, contorted in misery. After everything, after _fucking everything_ it came down to this choice between the world and those he loved all over again. He'd made it once, and Dean didn't know if he could do it again.

Maybe Lucifer saw something in Dean's expression because he stopped speaking in that fucked-up language. The fire dissipated instantly and Cas fell forward, his knees hitting the ice hard.

"My brother," Lucifer spat. "He loves humans more than his own kind. Traitor. Like _your_ brother."

Dean wasn't going to listen to this shit. They had to get out of here, and they had to do it fast. Cas looked like shit, his breathing fast and uneven, his eyes shut tightly. Dean had to _think_. He couldn't get backed into making this decision again.

"It's simple," Lucifer went on. "You break this seal, we all leave here alive. We go back to playing at fighting an apocalypse. It's a good deal."

"The seal," Dean repeated.

Lucifer waved a hand in Dean's direction, rolling his eyes upwards like his was looking for something, then back towards Dean. "You're still the righteous man, Dean Winchester." He tapped at his wrist as though he had a watch there. "Hurry up or I'll start on Sammy."

"You won't. You need him," Dean argued.

"Getting out of Hell is my priority."

"No," Dean said. He'd been through these arguments so many times they were getting boring and predictable, Dean reminded himself. He'd learned a hundred times over that giving in just never, _never_ worked.

Lucifer sighed heavily. "Your choice."

And turned to Sam. "First," Lucifer said, "I'm going to burn out his eyes. He doesn't need those so much."

"Dean-" Sam began. He sounded so young. So _scared_.

Lazily, Lucifer stretched out his fist toward Sam, clenching it tightly closed and whatever Sam was going to say was cut off by a cry of pain. Dean watched as Sam's eyes turned black, began bleeding, and Dean felt sick and he felt like an evil fucking bastard and every instinct in him said to agree, to make the deal. Sam clenched his eyes closed, pressing the palms of his hands against the sockets, panting in breaths. But Dean had already given up Sam to Hell once, and he'd given up himself, and they'd been here before with Zachariah.

It would hurt. It always hurt, but Sam wouldn't want him to give in. Cas wouldn't want him to deal.

"You'll be left alone, Dean," Lucifer said. "I won't kill you. I'll kill them and I'll send you back to Earth and you can live, knowing you let them die."

Dean clenched his fists. "Fuck you."

Sam was making pitiful pained sounds, and Cas was still on his knees, his arms wrapped around his chest, and these were the two people Dean knew he couldn't live without. But he couldn't save them just to go back to the last two years of endless fighting and hopelessness. None of them wanted that.

Michael moved closer, still keeping his distance from Lucifer. "Stop toying with them," he snapped. Then, turning his hateful eyes on Dean he ordered, "Break the line or I will kill your brother. Do it now." He was impatient and pissed as hell, as though needing a human to gain his freedom was below him. No way was Michael going to be put off or stalled.

Desperately, not having a fucking clue what he could do, Dean turned to look at Cas. There was blood on the side of his face, ugly looking bruising across his cheek that Dean hadn't been able to see in the darkness. He was leaning forward, one hand flat against the ice, the other clamped down over his shoulder. Cas looked back at Dean with exhausted, half-unfocused eyes, but he hadn't given up. There was something there, some idea, and Cas actually _smiled_. It was all the strength Dean needed to tell Michael, "No," all over again.

The snapping sound that followed was startlingly loud, echo almost deafening in the sudden silence. Dean realised, whatever they'd said, Dean hadn't actually believed either Lucifer or Michael would actually, _really_ kill Sam. When it came down to it he'd never believed they'd do it. Sam was too valuable, wasn't he?

There was a dull buzzing in Dean's ears. Shock, maybe, as Dean watched Sam's body fall to the ice.

"Sam-"

Dean's mouth went dry, the name sticking in his throat. He was vaguely aware he was moving towards Sam, taking hold of him and shaking him. Sam's head rolled back at a sickening angle, his eyes grotesque masses of empty burned flesh.

Dean had been here before too, with his brother's body in his arms. God. Fuck. So fucking _dead_.

All Dean felt was a weird sort of numbness. He tried to blink it away, telling himself, they'll bring him back. Lucifer would bring him back. There was no death here. _Something._

Too close, he heard Lucifer laughing, and it made Dean cold and he had to grit his teeth to keep from taking his knife and burying it in the angel bastard's head. No way was he going to lose it. No way was he going to give the asshole what he wanted.

"What do you think you're going to do, Castiel?" Lucifer was saying. "You can't fly. You can't _stand_. There's nothing left of you."

Cas.

Dean looked up to see him, unbalanced and barely able to stay upright, stumbling over to them. Dean could see a trail of dark blood and black feathers where Cas had walked. There was resolve in the way his shoulders were set and in the focused look on his face. His attention was concentrated on Sam's body, pulled up onto Dean's knees, as though just staring at him long enough would bring him back. Dean knew how that felt. And through it all Lucifer was fucking _laughing_.

At Dean's side, Castiel collapsed down onto his knees, letting out a long breath. He looked fucking awful, and Dean wondered if he was going to have to watch Cas die again too.

"They always underestimate you," Cas said quietly, voice tight with pain, but hope. He had hope, and Dean knew he'd made the right choice, not dealing with Lucifer. Choosing to trust in Cas and Sam. "Us."

Lucifer sounded smug when he said, "Come on, Dean. You break us out of here, we can fix them both. I don't think little Castiel will be able to help with this one."

Dean watched as Cas drew himself up, straightening his back. He held his broken arm pressed stiffly against his stomach, and there was blood on his lips, but he looked back at his brothers defiantly. "You have no faith. You fight for nothing but yourselves, so you will never win this."

It surprised Dean when Cas actually smiled. There was no humour in it. "You should not have stopped," he told them, "When you burned my wings."

Beside Dean, Cas held himself still, preparing for something, and Dean gripped Sam's body tighter, not quite able to look down. He watched Cas instead, and in that instant the angel lifted his arm, fingers curling around air. The glint of his sword was visible before Dean could even see the thing in reality, and then, with all his strength Cas was driving the blade down into the ice in front of him.

As soon as the point struck the surface there was a deep rumbling like thunder and an ominous creaking, like a table about to break under the strain of too much weight but a thousand times louder. Cas was speaking steadily under his breath, not letting up the pressure. Inside their cage, Lucifer was prowling along what Dean guessed was their limit, back and forth like he was trying to find a way free, shouting at Cas, "What have you _done_?"

Michael was watching Cas with what looked like horror, but Cas didn't stop.

From where blade met ice, a thin crack appeared, running out towards Lucifer. For a second Dean thought, shit, it's going to break the line, but then it turned abruptly, splitting in two and going _around_.

Beneath his knees Dean felt movement, like an earthquake, and when he looked down he could see the twisted necks and half-rotted faces of the Damned squirming and grasping, something freeing them. Their eyes were bright and vengeful and full of _glee_. It made Dean really hope Cas was sure about this. Even Michael and Lucifer looked freaked out, backing away from the fissures forming around their prison. Dean knew though, without any hint of doubt, that Cas wouldn't do anything to hurt him, or Sam.

Sweat was beading on Cas's forehead, his face showing the strain of whatever the hell he was trying to do, not pausing even for breath as he whispered words that Dean felt in his head more than heard with his ears. It was power, spreading out over the surface of the ice. Breaking it open, Dean realised. Releasing these ancient Damned from their frozen prison.

The sound was so loud that even though Dean could see Lucifer yelling something, he couldn't hear what it was. There was something deeply satisfying about seeing the Devil almost panicked like that and Dean thought, if this all went to shit, he could die happy having seen that.

The rolling thunder, the cracking and the creaking morphed into the cries and the shouts and the screams of men and women, and around Lucifer and Michael Dean could see hands reaching up out of the ice, grasping at the archangels' legs.

Revenge. Betrayal, Dean realised, watching in fascination as the bodies beneath him clawed their way towards Lucifer's cage.

Michael and Lucifer kicked and hit out, spitting and hissing what Dean guessed were curses and spells, but they had nowhere to run and there were so many. Hands had turned to mouths biting at their legs, and elbows wrapping around their waists, trying to drag them down. Hundreds of broken, remorseless souls seeking to rip and tear. There didn't seem to be anything the archangels could do, no influence, no angel mojo they could use to escape. No matter how fucking sick, Dean couldn't take his eyes off the sight of the two most powerful angels of all being reduced to cries of pain and pleas to their Father as more and more souls pushed themselves up out of the ice, reaching and surging towards them, eyes filled with _hunger_.

Soon, Dean couldn't see Michael or Lucifer at all, hidden somewhere in the masses of the Damned, and not long after Dean couldn't hear them anymore either. There was nothing like relief, or the feeling of victory, or even vindictive pleasure that the fuckers had finally gotten what they deserved. There was just nothing, because it was all so freaking pointless.

When one of the souls turned eyes on Dean, staring right at him with that same look of _need_ , Dean felt himself jerking back, thinking, fuck. Now _they_ were going to get eaten.

He glanced at Castiel, who was leaning forward dangerously far, hand still wrapped around his sword but panting now, his eyes closed.

Dean reached over, putting one hand on Cas's shoulder, not liking at all the way Cas flinched at the touch. "We gotta go." Dean urged. He had to speak more loudly than he'd have liked to be heard over the cries and the gnashing and the clamour of the Damned. Like a zombie hoard, Dean found himself thinking. They reminded him of a crazy zombie hoard from some shitty B-movie. It was easier than thinking that Sam's body against Dean's knees wasn't breathing.

Cas shook his head slowly. "They can't escape Lucifer's cage any more than Lucifer could."

Dean looked back, and could see where the souls were trying to push against some invisible wall, scratching at something that wasn't there to try and get to them. So many eyes looking at them, _wanting_ them.

"They seek out the living," Cas said. His eyes were half-open, tired, watching them right back. "But you're right. We should go. This is not a good place."

The cold was starting to seep back into Dean's legs, cramped and aching as the adrenaline wore off. He should help Cas, he knew. The poor bastard looked half dead. But Dean just couldn't bring himself to let go of Sam. There was just no way he could leave his brother here, even dead. He just _couldn't_. Dean couldn't even look down at Sam, had no clue what to do but sit there numbly and watch as Cas pulled at his sword a couple times. It didn't budge, and Cas sat back, staring at the blade sadly for a long minute before turning to meet Dean's eyes.

"You're crying," he could just about hear Cas say. Which he wasn't. He _wasn't_.

Cas slid himself forward, grimacing at the movement, his right arm still tight against his chest. He reached out his good hand to touch at Sam's forehead. It was like coming awake. Suddenly all Dean could think was how and why and what the fuck. "Why couldn't you have done that before Sam was... before?"

Anger was always easiest.

Dean knew, he really did, that this wasn't Cas's fault. That Cas had done everything he could. But there was no one else except a horde of fucking hell zombies and Dean just didn't know how to make this right.

"Lucifer was right," Cas said. It grated, how calm he was. Dean tried to remember that he trusted him with _everything_. "I have almost nothing left. No strength and no wings and hardly any grace. This will be the last of it." His gaze never left Dean's when he said, "There is no death here."

Where Cas's fingers pressed against Sam's skin, there was a familiar flash of white light, and Dean looked down in time to see Sam's eyes flying open, drawing in a sudden breath. Surprised and alive and eyes back in their sockets and _open_.

Sam coughed, took another deep breath and looked right back up at Dean. "What-"

It was too good to be true, Dean thought. It couldn't be real. Not again. He had to know for sure, so he pulled Sam up and wrapped his arms around his brother and just held on and revelled in the feel of his heart beating and his breathing and Sam squirming against him, looking around. "Dean, what the-" It might've been unconscious, but Sam put his arms around Dean too, hanging on to Dean like he was actually scared.

"Jesus Christ, Sam," Dean said into his brother's stupid hair. "You die on me one more freaking time and I'm gonna have a heart attack."

"I'll do my best," Sam promised, and he sounded serious about it. "But what the hell happened?"

Dean could tell he was staring at the cage; at the hungry souls.

"I released them." Cas's voice. "Let's leave."

Never in Dean's entire life had he agreed more, and he made himself let go of Sam, sure now he was alive and okay, and even if they weren't out of this yet, maybe they were close. Maybe they could do this.

Dean's knees cracked as he unbent, standing, and Sam stood up beside him, healed and whole and keeping an eye on the Damned as he made his way towards Cas to help him up.

It took them both, careful of his arm and his back, to pull Cas to his feet.

"You'll be okay, right?" Sam asked. He sounded weirdly young, maybe even scared, and definitely guilty. "You'll heal? Once we're out of here?"

"I won't die," Cas assured him, which didn't really answer Sam's question but was enough for now.

Balanced between them, Cas led them away from the cage, away from the crazed, mindless dead, too long down here to be humans anymore, and too long in the ice to be demons. It was slow going, Cas finding it difficult to keep his feet under him as the ice became uneven again, the souls of the dead becoming still under their feet. Dean almost welcomed the quiet and the return of the darkness.

They walked for a long time and Dean tried not to think too much, except that Cas was growing weaker, his steps more clumsy and his breathing increasingly laboured. He refused to let either of them look at his back or his arm.

They were all so cold and so worn and maybe Cas just couldn't bear to spend another second in this place.

"You said that was the last of your grace." Dean had to know.

"Yes."

"You're human." Dean didn't want that for Cas, not when he'd seen how that could go. It was a price that Cas had already paid once, and it wasn't right when all Cas had done was keep Sam and Dean alive. But he had to know.

"Perhaps." Cas didn't sound sad, or angry, or even resigned. "If you and Sam are alive, then it will be worth it."

Dean wanted to ask why Cas would do that. Why he'd give up everything for them. _Again_. But maybe Dean was more afraid that he already knew what the answer would be. Cas was so close, and fuck it but right then Dean wanted to kiss him. Not just because he'd saved his brother and he'd saved him, but because he wanted Cas to know that being human wasn't all crap. That Dean meant it, that he'd stick with Cas, that no damn demons were making him. Because he _wanted_ to. When they got out of here, Dean resolved, he was going to, blood and mess and brother be damned. From the way Cas was staring at him, Dean knew that Cas would kiss him right back too.

"There is a path," Cas told him. "We aren't far. It is a path, enclosed on both sides by high walls, which follows a slope upwards. We will come to a river. Across the river we will come to the gates. If we cross the boundary we'll be safe."

There was light, coming from somewhere ahead, and it wasn't fire or hazy purple, but real and warm like sunlight. There was a breeze too that smelled of something other than brimstone and decay.

Sam said, "Is that what we can feel? It's weird that down here, after all that way, there's just an exit waiting for us."

Cas nodded. "No one can get past Lucifer unless he wishes them to."

"Except you," Dean pointed out.

"Except us."

Dean'd always known Cas was a scary bastard, but it had only just dawned on him exactly how much Cas could take. It sounded like they still had a ways to go though, and Dean needed to know if he was going to have to wrestle Cas into letting them take a look at his wounds.

"You can make it?" he asked.

Cas actually glared at Dean, like he'd offended him or something. "I can make it, yes."

With every step closer to that light and that warmth Dean could believe it. That they were going to get out of here alive and together. Anything else- all the anger and the guilt and the fucked up things that had happened- they didn't matter. He'd take this; friendship and family and whatever it was he had going on with Cas too and he'd believe none of it was fake.

And he wouldn't look back.

**.END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those of you who somehow managed to read this far!
> 
> This story, which really was supposed to only be about 20K, got very out of control. At times frustrating and too complicated and full of plot holes, I'd like to thank my beta and my alphas all over again, and to everyone who's had to listen to me bitching about this for the past two months.
> 
> I should, at this point, and so as not to be accused of some strange kind of plagiarism, did of course take a lot of inspiration from Dante's _Divine Comedy_. I have loved this book for many years, and have for a long time wanted to write some kind of journey through Hell based on his vision. Writing this allowed me to spend many a happy hour on the train reading _Inferno_ all over again, and texting [](http://cienna.livejournal.com/profile)[**cienna**](http://cienna.livejournal.com/) to tell her what a massive Mary-Sue Dante is. I wasn't strict with his circles, and I interpreted some of them liberally, but there were some things that just fit perfectly. 


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